COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  STUDIES  IN  ENGLISH 
AND  COMPARATIVE  LITERATURE 


ROBERT  GREENE 


COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 
SALES  AGENTS 

New  York: 
LEMCKE  &  BUECHNER 
30-32  West  27th  Street 

London: 

HUMPHREY  MILFORD 

Amen  Corner,  E.G. 


ROBEET  GREENE 


BY 

JOHN   CLARK  JORDAN 


Submitted  in  Partial  Fulfilment  of  the  Requirements 

FOR  THE  Degree  of  Doctor  of  Philosophy,  in  the 

Faculty  of  Philosophy,  Columbia  University 


COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 
1915 


Copyright,  1915 
By  Columbia  University  Press 


Printed  from  type,  September,  1915 


€^^ 


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THE-PLIMPTON-PHBS6 
NORW00D-MA88-U-S-/ 


TO 

MY  GRANDFATHER 

JOHN  DOWNEY 


tZ-i  flOQ.^ 


This  Monograph  has  been  approved  by  the  Depart- 
ment of  English  and  Comparative  Literature  in  Columbia 
University  as  a  contribution  to  knowledge  worthy   of 

publication. 

A.  H.  THORNDIKE, 

Executive  Officer. 


PREFACE 

Robert  Greene  has  been  written  about  profusely. 
"More  time  and  trouble  have  been  bestowed  than  one  cares 
to  remember,"  complained  the  late  Mr.  Collins  as  he  laid 
down  his  editor's  pen.  So  much,  indeed,  has  been  done, 
so  various  have  been  the  researches  as  to  Greene's  sources, 
his  literary  relationships,  his  friendships  and  his  quarrels, 
his  sinning  and  repenting,  that  one  who  desires  to  study  him 
must  go  over  a  vast  amount  of  material.  There  is  the  fur- 
ther difficulty  that  a  few  sensational  remarks  in  Greene's 
writings  have  been  given  such  emphasis  as  to  withdraw  at- 
tention from  certain  other  aspects  of  his  works  and  to  obscure 
what  is  of  more  importance.  I  have  tried  to  present  a  com- 
prehensive treatment,  based  upon  the  investigations  of  pre- 
vious writers  and  developed  by  what  I  have  been  able  to  add 
of  my  own. 

In  the  personality  of  Greene,  and  in  the  nature  of  his 
activity,  there  is  considerable  to  stir  the  imagination,  and 
to  invite  criticism  and  evaluation.  These  two  elements,  the 
human  and  the  literary  significance  of  Greene's  work,  I  have, 
therefore,  sought  to  bear  in  mind.  Thus  submitting  Greene 
to  analysis,  I  have  found  the  outlines  of  his  character  as  a 
man  of  letters  to  be  rather  sharply  drawn.  Sharply  enough, 
I  think,  to  be  permanent.  New  facts  will  be  added,  new 
sources  discovered.  But  these  will  only  help  to  make  the 
portrait  a  little  more  distinct.  They  will  not,  I  believe, 
change  our  fundamental  idea  of  the  man  or  of  his  attitude 
toward  literature. 

To  those  scholars  who  have  made  my  work  possible  I 
acknowledge  my  indebtedness.     Especially  have  I  benefited 


X  PREFACE 

from  the  labors  of  Dr.  Samuel  Lee  Wolff,  whose  contribu- 
tions to  the  knowledge  and  understanding  of  Greene  have 
been  of  great  value.  To  the  librarians  of  Columbia  Univer- 
sity, and  to  Miss  Jennie  Craig  and  her  assistant.  Miss  Olive 
Paine,  of  the  English  Seminar  Library  of  the  University  of 
Illinois,  I  give  my  thanks  for  generous  help.  To  my  wife  I 
owe  much  for  criticism  and  for  preparation  of  the  manuscript 
for  the  press. 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  express  my  appreciation  for  the  obliga- 
tions I  am  under  to  the  Department  of  English  and  Com- 
parative Literature  at  Columbia  University:  to  Professor 
G.  P.  Krapp;  to  Professor  J.  B.  Fletcher,  who  has  offered 
many  valuable  suggestions.  To  Professor  A.  H.  Thorndike, 
in  whose  mind  my  work  had  its  inception,  and  whose  counsel 
and  letters  have  aided  me  greatly,  I  feel  sincere  gratitude. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     Introduction 1 

II.     Omne  Tulit  Punctum 9 

III.  Sero  Sed  Serio 53 

IV.  Nascimur  Pro  Patria 82 

V.     The  Poetry 127 

VI.     Chronology  of  the  Non-Dramatic  Work    .      .      .  164 

VII.     The  Plays 174 

VIII.     Conclusion 201 

appendices 

I.     Tabulation  of  the  Framework  Tales   ....  207 

II.     Misconceptions  Concerning  Greene 211 

III.     Early  Allusions  to  Greene 215 

Bibliography 221 

Index 227 


ROBERT  GREENE:  A  STUDY 

CHAPTER  I 
INTRODUCTION 

Robert  Greene  was  baptized  in  Norwich^  on  July  11, 
1558.2  He  died  in  London,  September  3,  1592.  Of  the  life 
that  extended  between  these  dates  there  is  little  of  actual 
record.  On  November  26,  1575,  Greene  was  matriculated 
as  a  sizar  at  St.  John's  Cambridge.  From  that  college  he 
received  his  primary  degree  in  1578.^  In  1583,  July  7,  he 
was  at  Clare  Hall,*  where  he  was  granted  the  degree  of  Mas- 
ter of  Arts.  Sometime  in  1585  or  '86  he  was  married. 
Oxford  conferred  a  degree  in  July,  1588;  so  that  he  was 
henceforth  the  Academiae  Utriusque  M agister  in  Artihus  of 
which  he  was  so  vain.     The  facts  which  I  have  enumerated. 

Note  —  All  references  unless  otherwise  stated  are  to  Grosart's 
edition  to  the  Coinplete  Works  of  Robert  Greene,  15  vols.  8vo.  1881-3. 
Huth  Library  Series. 

1  Greene  himself  speaks  of  the  "Cittie  of  Norwitch,  where  I  was  bred 
and  borne,"  {Repentance,  Vol.  XII.,  p.  171)  and  he  sometimes  added 
Norfolciensis  to  his  name.  See  Epistle  Dedicatory  to  Lodge's  Euphues, 
his  Shadowe,  signed  "Rob.  Greene  Norfolciensis."  (Lodge's  Complete 
Works,  Vol.  II.  Printed  for  Hunterian  Club,  1883) ;  also  Epistle  Dedi- 
catory to  A  Maiden's  Dreame,  signed  "R.  Greene,  Nordovicensis." 
Vol.  XIV.,  p.  300. 

2  Register  of  St.  George,  Tombland.  See  J.  C.  Collins'  edition  of 
Greene's  Plays  and  Poems,  1905,  Vol.  I.,  p.  12. 

'  University  Register. 

<  "From  my  Studie  in  Clarehall  the  vij  of  Julie."  The  Epistle  to 
the  second  part  of  MamilUa.     Vol.  II.,  p.  143. 

1 


I  ROBERT   GREENE 

together  with  the  records  on  the  Stationers'  Register  and 
the  title-pages  of  his  works,  are  all  that  we  have  that  can  be 
dated. 

Greene  talked  about  himself;  others  talked  about  him. 
And  so,  while  his  life  can  never  be  known  exactly  or  in  de- 
tail, his  comings  and  goings,  the  events  of  his  existence  in 
the  capital,  the  man  that  he  was  can  be  perceived  with  more 
vividness  than  can  most  of  his  fellows.  From  his  own  works,^ 
and  from  the  bitter  controversy  which  arose  after  his  death, 
with  the  harsh  words  that  passed  back  and  forth  between 
Harvey  and  Nashe,^  we  can  learn  much  of  how  Greene  looked 
and  acted. 

"A  jolly  long  red  peake,  like  the  spire  of  a  steeple,"  says 
Nashe,''  "hee  cherisht  continually  without  cutting,  whereat 
a  man  might  hang  a  Jewell,  it  was  so  sharp  and  pendant." 
...  "A  very  faire  Cloake,"  he  had,  "with  sleeves,  of  .  .  . 
greene;  it  would  serve  you  as  fine  as  may  bee"  —  this  to 
Gabriel  Harvey,  the  ropemaker's  son — "if  you  bee  wise, 
play  the  good  husband  and  listen  after  it,  you  may  buy  it 
ten  shillings  better  cheape  than  it  cost  him.  By  S.  Silver, 
.  .  .  theres  a  great  many  ropes  go  to  ten  shillings.  If  you 
want  a  greasy  pair  of  silk  stockings  also,  to  show  your  selfe 
at  the  Court,  they  are  there  to  be  had  too  amongst  his 
moveables." 

"Hee  inherited  more  vertues  than  vices,"  says  Nashe 
again.  "Debt  and  deadly  sinne,  who  is  not  subject  to?  with 
any  notorious  crime  I  never  knew  him  tainted."  .  .  .  "A 
good  fellowe  he  was;"  considerable  of  a  drinker.  "Hee 
made  no  account  of  winning  credite  by  his  workes,  ...  his 

'  The  Repentance  and  various  of  the  Prefaces. 

*  In  his  Introduction  to  the  Works  of  Thomas  Nashe,  Vol.  V.,  Mr. 
Ronald  B.  McKerrow  has  a  most  excellent  account  of  this  quarrel. 
The  subject  is  there  treated  exhaustively  and  finally. 

'  Foure  Letters  Confuted.    Ed.  McKerrow,  Vol.  I.,  p.  287. 


,*= 


INTRODUCTION 


only  care  was  to  have  a  spel  in  his  purse  to  conjure  up  a 
good  cuppe  of  wine  with  at  all  times."  .  .  .  "Why  should 
art  answer  for  the  infirmities  of  maners?  Hee  had  his 
faultes,  and  thou  thy  follyes." 

The  young  Bohemians  lived  hard  in  those  days.  And 
they  died  hard.  Greene  was  only  thirty-four  when  he  went 
to  that  "fatall  banquet  of  Rhenish  wine  and  pickled  hearing 
(if  thou  wilt  needs  have  it  so)."*  All  through  the  month  of 
August  Greene  was  ill,  at  first  taking  no  alarm.  He  got  his 
Blacke  Bookes  Messenger  ready  for  the  press,  and  told  his 
plans  for  the  Blacke  Booke  itself.^  Then  gradually,  as  the 
days  wore  on,  he  came  to  realize  that  he  could  never  be  well. 
He  was  greatly  troubled  in  his  mind.  If  he  could  only  pray, 
he  would  be  happy.  But  there  was  a  voice  ringing  in  his 
ears,  "Robin  Greene,  thou  art  damned."  He  tried  to  find 
comfort  in  the  hope  of  God's  mercy,  and  be  pacified.  But 
the  battle  went  on.  Sometimes  he  hoped,  sometimes  he 
feared.  "There  was  one  theef  saved  and  no  more,  there- 
fore presume  not;  and  there  was  one  saved,  and  therefore 
despair  not." 

The  last  night  came.  "He  walked  to  his  chaire  and  back 
againe  the  night  before  he  departed,"  writes  the  printer  of 
the  Repentance, ^'^  "and  then  (being  feeble)  laying  him  downe 
on  his  bed,  about  nine  of  the  clocke  at  night,  a  friende  of  his 
tolde  him,  that  his  Wife  had  sent  him  commendations,  and 
that  shee  was  in  good  health:  whereat  hee  greatly  rejoiced, 
confessed  that  he  had  mightily  wronged  her,  and  wished  that 
hee  might  see  her  before  he  departed.  Whereupon  (feeling 
his  time  was  but  short)  hee  tooke  pen  and  inke,  &  wrote  her 
a  Letter  to  this  effect. 

"Sweet  Wife,  as  ever  there  was  any  good  will  or  friendship 
betweene  thee  and  mee  see  this  bearer  (my  Host)  satisfied  of 

'  Gabriel  would  have  it  so,  and  the  banquet  is  immortal. 
9  Vol.  XI.,  p.  5.  "  Vol.  XII.,  p.  185. 


4  ROBERT   GREENE 

his  debt:  I  owe  him  tenne  pound,  and  but  for  him  I  had 
perished  in  the  streetes.  Forget  and  forgive  my  wronges 
done  unto  thee,  and  Almighty  God  have  mereie  on  my  soule. 
Farewell  till  we  meet  in  heaven,  for  on  earth  thou  shalt 
never  see  me  more. 

This  2  of  September. 
1592 
Written  by  thy  dying  Husband. 
Robert  Greene."  ^^ 

Greene  ended  his  days  in  poverty.^-  His  friends  deserted 
him,  and  he  was  left  alone.  He  would  indeed  have  died  in 
the  streets  had  not  the  shoemaker  of  Dowgate  and  his  wife 
taken  care  of  him,  —  a  task  in  which  they  were  assisted  by 
the  mother  of  Greene's  illegitimate  son. 

Such  was  the  manner  of  his  death  on  the  third  of  Septem- 
ber. Mrs.  Isam  crowned  him  with  a  garland  of  bay  leaves, 
and  on  the  following  day  they  buried  him.^^ 

"Oh  Robin  Greene,  and  unfortunate  because  thou  art 
Robin!"  Greene  would  have  said  of  one  of  the  unhappy 
creatures  of  his  imagination.  Let  us  say  it  of  him;  there  is 
none  it  fits  better. 

With  all  its  sadness  —  with  all  its  morbidness  and  senti- 
mentalism,  some  would  say  —  Greene's  death  was  not  a 
tragedy.  It  does  not  arouse  profound  emotion.  No  manner 
of  death  could  do  that  for  him.     His  life  had  not  been  big 

11  This  letter  is  given  by  Harvey  in  practically  the  same  form  in 
his  Foure  Letters,  and  certaine  Sonnets:  Especially  touching  Robert 
Greene,  and  other  parties,  by  him  abused.  Harvey's  Works.  Ed. 
Grosart.     Vol.  I.,  p.  171. 

12  Nashe  denies  this:  "For  the  lowsie  circumstance  of  his  poverty 
before  his  death,  and  sending  that  miserable  writte  to  his  wife,  it 
cannot  be  but  thou  lyest,  learned  Gabriell."  Ed.  McKerrow.  Vol. 
I.,  p.  287. 

"  Greene  was  buried  in  the  New  Churchyard,  near  Bedlam. 


INTRODUCTION  5 

enough.  His  character  had  been  too  much  of  the  surface, 
rather  than  of  the  depth.  He  had  lived  for  the  day  that 
was  passing,  nor  heeded  that  eternity  would  come.  We 
need  not  revile  him  as  base,  believing  the  words  that  he  ut- 
tered in  his  despair  or  remembering  only  his  ill-starred  an- 
tagonism to  a  greater,  but  a  fellow,  dramatist;  we  need  not 
apologize  for  his  shortcomings,  in  order  to  say  that  Greene 
was  not  of  the  strong.  He  was  weak;  he  was  superj&cial. 
But  we  can  feel  a  genuine  sympathy  for  him,  and  a  regret 
that  his  life  should  have  ended  so  miserably. 

There  is  a  statement  of  his,  made  on  his  deathbed,  which 
represents  pretty  well  the  life  of  the  man  in  its  activities  and 
its  remorse.  It  shall  serve  us  here  to  introduce  the  purpose 
of  this  volume.  "Many  things  I  have  wrote  to  get  money. '^^^ 
Greene  was  a  man  of  letters,  and  as  such  I  shall  try  to  pre- 
sent him.  Whatever  literary  form  he  took  up,  it  was  for 
exploitation;  whatever  he  dropped,  it  was  because  the 
material  or  the  demand  was  exhausted.  He  did  what  no 
man  before  him  in  England  had  done  so  extensively:  he 
wrote  to  sell. 

"Povertie  is  the  father  of  innumerable  infirmities."  That 
was  Greene's  view  of  the  task.  We  of  today  can  scarcely 
appreciate  the  difficulty.  Literature  is  inseparably  linked 
with  the  material  conditions  which  make  it  possible.  In 
the  success  of  our  modern  professional  writers,  we  forget 
that  this  relation  has  ,  always  existed,  that  it  was  a  new 
thing  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  for  a  man  to  place  his 
"chiefest  stay  of  living"  in  an  inkhorn  and  a  pen.  Greene, 
however,  did  so  for  several  years.  We  have  thirteen 
volumes  of  his  work  as  the  product  of  his  industry.  What 
shall  we  say  of  them  and  of  him? 

In  1599  one  Fastidious  Brisk,  coxcomb  and  gallant,  was 
boasting  of  the  elegance  of  his  mistress'  language, 
"  Greenes  Vision.     Vol.  XII.,  p.  195. 


6  ROBERT   GREENE 

"Oh,  it  flows  from  her  like  nectar,  .  .  .  she  does  observe 
as  pure  a  phrase,  and  use  as  choice  figures  in  her  ordinary- 
conferences,  as  any  be  in  the  Arcadia." 

From  Carlo,  the  jester.  Fastidious  got  this  rebuff, 

"Or  rather  from  Greene's  works,  whence  she  may  steal 
with  more  security."  ^^ 

Whether  or  not  Carlo's  sly  reflection  upon  the  culture 
of  Fastidious'  lady  was  meant  as  a  disparagement 
upon  the  works  of  Greene,  it  does  suggest  that  character- 
istic which  impresses  most  of  Greene's  readers,  namely, 
his  productivity  as  compared  with  his  contemporaries. 
For  Greene  was  the  most  prolific  of  all  the  Elizabethan 
writers. 

He  was  the  most  versatile,  too.  No  other  man  in  the 
Elizabethan  period  attempted  so  many  different  kinds  of 
work.  Greene  did  all  that  the  rest  did,  and  more.  Drama, 
poetry,  framework  tales,  romances,  social  pamphlets,  trea- 
tises, prodigal-son  stories,  repentances,  —  all  these  flowed 
from  his  pen  with  a  rapidity  that  is  amazing.  "In  a  night 
&  a  day  would  he  have  yarkt  up  a  pamphlet  as  well  as  in 
seaven  yeare,"  his  friend  Nashe  tells  us,  "and  glad  was  that 
Printer  that  might  bee  so  blest  to  paye  him  deare  for  the 
very  dregs  of  his  wit."  Greene  wrote  only  twelve  years, 
and  he  had  but  come  into  his  prime  when  he  died.  Yet  the 
range  of  his  activity  was  far  greater  than  many  another 
man  attains  to  in  a  lifetime.  I  am  not  saying  that,  although 
Greene  excelled  his  contemporaries  in  the  matter  of  versa- 
tility, he  at  the  same  time  excelled  them  individually  in  any 
one  type  of  work.  He  wrote  no  romance  worthy  to  rank  , 
with  the  Arcadia;  he  composed  nothing  which  in  charm  of 
style  is  to  be  compared  with  Lodge's  Rosalynde.  But  it  is 
not  to  be  denied  that  Greene  did  have  ease  in  writing,  and 

^^  Every  Man  Out  of  His  Humour.     Act  III.     Sc.  I. 


INTRODUCTION  7 

that  he  turned  his  hand  to  various  tasks  with  about  the  same 
degree  of  proficiency. 

Fertility  and  versatility  are  Greene's  most  obvious  dis- 
tinctions. He  manifests,  along  with  these,  a  third.  In 
spite  of  his  artificiality  of  style,  his  shallowness  of  characteri- 
zation, his  inconsistencies  of  plot,  his  lack  of  seriousness, 
which  are  real  defects,  Greene  exhibited  a  freedom  of  liter- 
ary art;  and  although  he  never,  even  to  the  end  of  his 
career,  ceased  to  shout  morality  from  his  title-pages,  yet  in 
practice  he  came  to  have  an  almost  complete  enfranchise- 
ment from  the  traditions  of  the  earlier  didactic  writers.  If 
I  may  be  permitted  to  restate  the  idea,  I  mean  that  notwith- 
standing the  conventions  of  Elizabethan  literature  in  all  its 
forms,  which  influenced  no  author  more  than  him,  Greene 
developed  an  understanding  of  the  fact  that  art  to  be  suc- 
cessful must  not  be  wholly  for  man's  sake;  that  it  must  be 
partly  for  art's  sake  as  well. 

Closely  related  to  this  achievement  is  growth  toward  con- 
sciousness of  method.  Greene's  work  is  full  of  crudities,  and 
some  of  it  is  not  interesting.  Emphasis  is  often  misplaced, 
being  upon  speech  rather  than  upon  action.  The  first  half 
of  a  novel  is  unduly  elaborated  at  the  expense  of  the  latter, 
and  episodes  in  the  course  of  the  main  action  are  frequently 
too  extended.  But  beneath  the  surface,  the  careful  reader 
can  perceive  in  Greene  a  definiteness  of  plan. 

The  overemphasized  story  of  Valericus'  rejection  of  Cas- 
tania^^  may  be  used  as  an  illustration.  Though  it  exempli- 
fies all  the  faults  just  enumerated,  it  was  meant,  —  however 
incompetently  done  —  to  explain  Valericus'  later  betrayal 
of  Castania.  A  lady  of  high  degree  is  in  love  with  a 
stranger  who  has  come  to  the  court.  For  the  progress  of 
the  story  it  is  necessary  that  the  duke,  her  father,  hear 
of  the  love-affair.  No  friend  will  betray  them;  an  enemy 
i«  Carde  of  Fancie,  Vol.  IV. 


8  ROBERT   GREENE 

must  do  it.  But  Castania  and  Gwydonius  are  both  in 
high  esteem.  A  rejected  lover  is  the  only  enemy  possible. 
■He  must  be  provided  early  in  the  narrative,  for  he  cannot 
be  deus  ex  ma'china.  That  is  Greene's  plan.  Valericus' 
suit  is  too  long  drawn  out.  He  might  have  been  trans- 
formed from  a  lover  into  an  enemy  with  much  more  de- 
spatch. We  do  not  care  to  listen  to  all  his  speeches  or  to 
read  all  his  letters.  The  device  is  not  well  handled,  looked 
at  from  our  point  of  view.  But  that  there  is  a  device 
at  all  is  reason  for  commendation. 

It  is  out  of  the  above  four  characteristics  that  our  interest 
in  Greene  arises,  and  our  problems  too.  His  talent,  revealing 
itself  in  these  various  ways,  representing  multiform  activi- 
ties in  one  body  of  work,  and  summing  up  and  expressing 
the  ideas  and  conventions  of  the  age,  gives  him  his  place  as 
a  man  of  letters  and  entitles  him  to  a  consideration  in  any 
study  of  the  literary  activities  of  his  time.  Greene  was  not 
great,  —  but  a  man  does  not  have  to  be  great  to  be  worthy 
of  study. 

To  the  student  and  critic,  then,  there  comes  the  task  of 
evaluating  the  product  of  Greene's  talent.  He  must  de- 
scribe, explain,  and  judge  the  work  which  Greene, has  left; 
and  he  must  show  the  influences  which  produced  it,  point 
out  the  significance  to  be  attached  to  it,  and  portray  so  far 
as  possible  the  personality  back  of  it. 


CHAPTER  II 
OMNE    TULIT    PUNCTUM 

The  motto  which  I  have  given  as  the  name  of  this  chapter, 
Omne  tulit  punctum  qui  miscuit  utile  dulci,  occurs  upon  the 
title-page  of  several  of  Greene's  works.  There  are  other 
mottoes  upon  other  works :  Sero  sed  serio,  and  Nascimur  pro 
patria.  These  three  mottoes  taken  together  represent  the 
entire  output  of  Greene's  prose.  They  indicate,  too,  in  this 
order  of  enumeration,  the  course  of  Greene's  development. 
Yet  different  as  are  the  purposes  which  they  indicate,  and 
as  are  the  contents  of  the  pamphlets  to  which  they  are  pre- 
fixed, they  are  the  product  of  the  same  writer,  and  they  grew 
out  of  the  same  literary  past. 

The  outlines  of  Greene's  activity  coincide  for  the  most 
part  with  the  three  stages  of  development  of  which  Professor 
Atkins  speaks  in  his  chapter  on  Elizabethan  prose  fiction  in 
the  Cambridge  History  of  English  Literature,^  a  threefold 
chronological  division.  Professor  Atkins  calls  attention  to 
the  fiction  of  which  the  fundamental  nature  is  akin  to  that 
of  the  moral  treatise,  and  of  which  he  chooses  the  work  of 
Lyly  as  the  chief  example.  Then,  without  implying  any 
development  in  the  evolutionary  sense  that  one  form  arose 
out  of  the  other,  he  proceeds  to  speak  of  the  new  type  that 
appeared  after  1584  and  continued  to  exist  side  by  side  with 
the  first,  an  essentially  romantic  fiction  represented  by  the 
the  Arcadia  of  Sidney.  And  finally  he  characterizes  the 
fiction  of  the  last  decade  of  the  century  as  realistic,  centering 
in  the  life  of  the  people  rather  than  of  the  court,  and 
1  Vol.  III.,  Chap.  XVI. 
9 


10  ROBERT   GREENE 

finding  exponents  in  such  men  as  Deloney  and,  a  little  later, 
Rowlands  and  Dekker.  In  the  ten  or  twelve  years  which 
his  career  embraced,  Greene  saw  English  fiction  in  all  three  of 
these  stages.  He  saw  it  pass  from  under  the  sway  of  Lyly 
and  his  courtly  yet  didactic  Euphues,  through  the  immediate 
vogue  of  the  romances  (though  romance  was  not  by  any 
means  dead),  into  the  phase  of  realism,  the  interest  in  the 
affairs  of  contemporary  life.  In  all  three  movements  Greene 
had  a  share. 

Like  most  other  novelists  then  and  since,  Greene  was  an 
imitator  and  a  follower  of  convention.  But  his  part  was  at 
the  same  time  active.  Not  only  did  he  do  what  he  saw  others 
doing  before  him  and  around  him;  he  also  contributed.  He 
was  a  student  of  the  times.  Where  there  was  a  demand  he 
tried  to  satisfy  it.  Where  there  was  none  he  endeavored  to 
create  it.  He  merged  his  own  line  of  interest,  as  it  were, 
with  the  larger  interest  of  the  age;  and  he  both  derived  his 
inspiration  from  that  interest,  and  added  something  from 
himself  to  make  it  what  it  was  and  what  it  should  become. 
Just  how  he  did  these  things,  and  how  he  was  associated  with 
the  three  movements,  it  will  be  the  purpose  of  this  and  suc- 
ceeding chapters  to  make  clear. 

At  the  time  when  Greene  began  to  write,  Elizabethan  fic- 
tion was  still  in  the  first  of  these  three  stages  of  creative 
endeavor.  It  had  passed  through  the  period  of  translation 
that  accompanied  the  first  workings  of  the  Renaissance  in- 
fluence in  every  form  of  English  literature,  poetry  and 
drama  as  well  as  fiction,  and  that  always  preceded  the  period 
of  original  production  in  those  various  forms.  It  had,  too, 
only  a  short  time  before,  been  well  started  in  the  way  to 
original  work  by  the  Euphues  of  Lyly. 

The  history  of  this  period  of  translation  need  not  detain 
us  long.  It  is  necessary  to  state  only  two  facts:  namely, 
that  the  era  of  translation  sufficed  for  the  introduction  of 


OMNE   TULIT   PUNCTUM  11 

certain  new  materials,  and  that  it  accomplished  certain 
results  as  to  style  and  method.  Both  of  these  facts  are, 
however,  of  importance  in  a  consideration  of  the  subsequent 
development  of  Elizabethan  novels. 

The  introduction  of  new  ideas  manifested  itself,  in  the  first 
place,  in  the  influence  that  arose  from  the  translation  of 
various  continental  works  of  which  Guevara's  El  Relox  de 
Principes  (by  Berners,  1534;  and  by  North,  1557)  and  Cas- 
tiglione's  II  Cortegiano  (by  Thomas  Hoby,  1561)  ^  were  the 
most  significant.  The  result  of  such  translations  as  these 
was  the  quickening  of  an  already  present,  but  older,  interest 
in  the  kind  of  literature  represented  by  Elyot's  Governor 
(1531)  and  Ascham's  Schoolmaster  (published  1570),  and  nu- 
merous other  treatises  intended  for  instruction  in  letters  and 
in  forms  of  refinement,  into  a  genuine  and  eager  desire  for 
the  more  cultivated  manners  and  thoughts  of  social  life.  In 
the  second  place,  along  with  the  influence  of  these  native  and 
infused  ideas  represented  by  these  moral  treatises  must  be 
considered  that  which  arose  from  the  translations  of  novels. 
Although  the  collections  of  Painter,  Fenton,  Pettie,  and  the 
rest,^  may  at  first  appear  to  be  translations  of  continental 
stories,  both  Renaissance  and  classical,  the  fundamental  pur- 
pose of  them  was  not  unlike  that  of  the  moral  treatises  them- 
selves. For  under  the  form  of  a  story  of  love  or  fortune  the 
translator  proclaimed  his  moral  purpose.^     It  may  be  that 

*  The  translation  was  frequently  reprinted.  There  was  also  a  Latin 
translation  in  1571  by  Bartholomew  Gierke  which  was  almost  as  popu- 
lar as  the  English  one. 

3  Painter,  1566;  Fenton,  1567;  Fortesque,  1571;  Pettie,  1576; 
Whetstone,  1576;  Riche,  1581;  etc. 

*  Painter,  for  example,  prefixed  a  long  discourse,  sometimes  running 
to  the  length  of  a  couple  of  dry,  uninteresting  pages,  to  each  of  the 
novels  he  translated.  Those  discourses  were  meant  to  be  somewhat  in 
the  nature  of  an  argument,  but  they  were  designed  also  to  point  out 
the  exceedingly  great  value,  and  the  moral,  of  the  story  about  to  be 


12  ROBERT   GREENE 

these  professions  of  a  moral  purpose  are  not  to  be  taken  too 
seriously.^  At  the  same  time,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  such 
collections,  of  which  the  ostensible  aim  was  edification,  did, 
under  the  guise  of  the  narrative  form,  do  much  to  set  forth 
new  ideas  on  such  subjects  as  love,  friendship,  and  fortune; 
to  enlarge  the  sphere  of  emotion;  and  to  combine  with  the 
influence  of  the  treatises  to  broaden  the  standard  of  culture 
in  accordance  with  the  ideals  of  the  more  advanced  peoples 
on  the  continent. 

The  new  ideas  of  culture  which  books  like  II  Cortegiano 
represented,  and  the  new  and  passionate  phases  of  life  to  be 
found  expressed  in  the  Italian  novelle,  not  only,  as  I  have 
suggested,  broadened  the  intellectual  and  emotional  experi- 
ence of  English  writers,  but  gave  to  those  writers  valuable 
lessons  in  style  and  method  of  composition.  Beginning  with 
what  were  literally  transcriptions,  so  far  as  invention  was 
concerned,  the  translators  themselves  came,  by  1580,  to  have 
a  considerable  independence.^  Along  with  the  process  of 
translation  there  went  the  process  of  adaptation;   and  both 

related.  Fenton,  not  content  with  torturing  his  tales  out  of  all  resem- 
blance to  fiction  by  means  of  his  discoursive  sermonizing  within  the 
tales  themselves,  added,  to  that,  copious  remarks  along  his  margins. 

5  In  the  case  of  Pettie  they  are  not  to  be  taken  seriously  at  all. 

^  In  1573  George  Gascoigne,  pretending  to  translate  from  an  Ital- 
ian author,  Bartello  by  name,  wrote  The  Adventures  of  Master  F.  J.,  the 
first  of  the  English  novels.  Certain  of  Pettie's  tales  {A  Petite  Pallace 
of  Pettie  his  Pleasure,  1576.  Ed.  Gollancz,  The  King's  Classics  Series. 
Tereus  and  Progne,  Vol.  I.  Scilla  and  Minos,  Vol.  II.)  are  not  by  any 
means  slavish  followings  of  their  originals.  Barnabe  Riche,  in  a  collec- 
tion of  eight  tales  was  himself  the  author  of  five  of  them.  (Riche  his 
Farewell  to  Militarie  Profession,  1581.  Shak.  Soc.  Pub.,  Vol.  XVI.) 
"To  the  Readers  in  generall:  .  .  .  The  histories  ...  are  eight  in 
munber,  whereof  the  first,  the  seconde,  the  fift,  the  seventh  and  eight, 
are  tales  that  are  but  forged  onely  for  delight,  neither  credible  to  be 
beleved,  not  hurtfull  to  be  perused.  The  third,  the  fourth,  and  the  sixt, 
are  Italian  histories." 


OMNE   TULIT   PUNCTUM  13 

of  these  resulted  in  original  production.  The  significance  of 
all  three  is  in  the  fact  that,  while  the  English  writers  were  thus 
following  models,  they  were  at  the  same  time  acquiring  a 
knowledge  of  prose  style.  Their  independence  was  far  from 
complete,  but  the  knowledge  which  they  got  was  at  least 
valuable  in  the  production  of  such  stories  as  satisfied  the 
instinct  for  edification,  both  moral  and  cultural. 

So  much,  then,  had  been  accomplished  when,  following  out 
the  tradition  of  narrative  form  for  didactic  purpose,  Lyly 
wrote  his  Euphues,  the  novel  with  which  the  first  stage  of  the 
development  of  Elizabethan  prose  fiction  was  inaugurated. 
Euphues,  it  is  well  to  recall  for  purposes  of  comparison  a 
little  later,  is  the  story  of  a  young  Athenian  who  comes  to 
Naples.  There  he  is  given  some  sound  advice  on  the  subject 
of  conduct.  Presently  he  meets  Philautus,  with  whom  he  is 
soon  on  intimate  terms  of  friendship.  Philautus  introduces 
him  to  Lucilla,  his  betrothed.  Euphues  and  Lucilla  fall  in 
love  and  the  friendship  with  Philautus  is  broken.  It  is  not 
long,  however,  before  Lucilla  deserts  Euphues  for  one  Curio, 
just  as  she  had  deserted  Philautus  for  Euphues.  Then 
Euphues,  a  wiser  man,  having  renewed  his  friendship  with 
Philautus,  betakes  himself  to  Greece,  becomes  a  hermit,  and 
sends  forth  letters  upon  various  subjects  to  his  various 
friends. 

Lyly  intended  to  write  a  treatise.  His  real  purpose,  as  Mr. 
Bond  says,^  ''was  to  string  together  moral  reflections  on 
grave  subjects,  the  gathered  results  of  various  reading."  Lyly 
was  concerned  with  the  inculcation  of  ideas.  Matters  of 
education,  friendship,  religion,  love-making,  conduct,  travel, 
and  so  forth,  he  discussed  with  the  seriousness  that  pertains 
to  questions  of  real  moment.  These  things  were  vital  to  him, 
and    indispensable.     From    sources    here   and    there,    from 

'  The  Complete  Works  of  John  Lyly.  Ed.  by  R.  W.  Bond.  Clarendon 
Press,  1902.     Introductory  Essay  to  Eiiphues.     Vol.  I,  p.  159. 


14  ROBERT   GREENE 

Cicero,  Plutarch,  Erasmus,  Guevara,  from  his  own  thought, 
too,  he  collected  opinions  and  discourses  on  social  affairs. 
Some  of  these  he  translated  just  as  he  found  them;  some  he 
adapted  to  suit  his  purpose.  The  Anatomy  of  Wyt  is,  there- 
fore, "rather  an  essay  in  philosophy  than  in  fiction  proper." 
But  it  is  not  wholly  so.  The  compilation  thus  made  Lyly 
cast  into  narrative  form.  As  such  it  has  serious  defects, 
want  of  action,  poverty  of  imagination,  lack  of  human  interest. 
In  spite  of  its  imperfections  as  narrative,  however,  —  in  spite, 
one  might  say,  of  the  very  didacticism  which  called  it  forth  — 
Euphues  is  a  novel,  an  excellent  "prototype  of  the  novel  with 
a  purpose." 

Of  the  style  of  the  celebrated  work  we  shall  not  speak,  its 
structural  and  ornamental  devices  —  anthitheses,  rhetorical 
questions,  alliterations,  puns;  historical  and  mythological 
allusions,  similes  from  natural  and  unnatural  history,  prov- 
erbs, set  discourses,  soliloquies,  "passions,"  asides  to  the 
reader,  letters,  misogynist  tirades.  All  this  is  too  well  known 
on  its  own  account  to  make  necessary  anything  more  than  the 
mention  of  it  as  the  conscious  effort  to  please  men  desiring  to 
"heare  finer  speach  then  the  language  would  allow."  There 
can,  indeed,  be  only  one  purpose  in  calling  attention  to  Lyly's 
work  at  all,  the  purpose,  namely,  of  taking  advantage  of  its 
familiarity  to  the  reader  as  a  means  of  summing  up  more  dis- 
tinctly, perhaps,  than  would  otherwise  be  possible,  the  state 
of  the  novel  when  Greene  put  forth  his  first  production. 

(A)     Mamillia 

The  First  Part  of  Mamillia  (lie.  1580),  the  earliest  extant 
work  from  Greene's  pen,  is  the  only  one  of  his  novels  (together 
with  the  Anatomic  of  Lovers  Flatteries  appended  to  the  Second 
Part,  1583;  and  a  few  elements  in  the  Second  Part  itself)  of 
which  the  form  was  cast  in  the  mold  set  by  Lyly.  But 
though  Greene  only  once  chose  Euphues  as  the  model  for  his 


OMNE   TULIT    PUNCTUM  15 

own  work,  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  wrote  Mamillia  with 
Lyly's  novel,  and  Lyly's  success,  in  mind.  Mamillia  has 
come  from  the  court  of  Venice  to  be  at  her  father's  house 
in  Padua.  She  receives  a  letter  from  a  friend  at  court  as  to 
matters  of  conduct.  At  her  father's  house,  one  Pharicles 
sees  her,  falls  in  love  with  her,  and  wins  her  affection.  Shortly 
afterward  Pharicles  sees  Publia,  woos,  and  wins  her.  Thus 
treacherously  engaged  to  both  ladies  at  once,  and  fearing  the 
outcome  of  such  faithlessness,  he  decides  to  leave  the  country. 
He  does  so,  leaving  behind  two  faithful  women,  both  of  whom, 
in  spite  of  his  fickleness,  remain  constant  in  their  affection. 
Publia  in  the  Second  Part  enters  a  convent;  Mamillia  —  a 
radical  departure  from  Euphues  —  marries  Pharicles. 

The  plot  of  Mamillia  differs  in  many  respects  from  that  of 
Euphues;  still  the  general  plan  is  much  the  same.  Corre- 
sponding to  Euphues'  departure  from  Athens,  we  have 
Mamillia's  departure  from  the  court  to  her  father's  house. 
The  fundamental  theme  of  infidelity  is  the  same  with  sexes 
reversed.  This  reversal  is  often  carried  out  in  details. 
Euphues  goes  from  home  to  gain  worldly  experience. 
Mamillia  is  away  from  home  in  the  midst  of  temptations, 
and  goes  home  in  order  to  avoid  them.  When  Euphues 
arrives  in  Naples,  he  is  offered  advice,  which  he  haughtily 
rejects.  Mamillia  is  offered  advice,  which  she  accepts  and 
earnestly  tries  to  follow.  The  reversal  is  carried,  also,  to  the 
main  characters.  In  Euphues  there  are  two  faithful  male, 
and  one  faithless  female,  characters;  in  Mamillia  there  are 
two  faithful  female,  and  one  faithless  male,  characters. 
Corresponding  to  the  fact  that  Euphues  met  Lucilla  through 
Philautus'  introduction  is  the  fact  that  it  was  Mamillia  who 
introduced  Pharicles  to  Publia.  Corresponding  to  the  quarrel 
between  Euphues  and  Philautus  when  Euphues  falls  in  love 
with  Lucilla,  there  is  the  falling  out  between  Mamillia  and 
Publia  when  Pharicles  and  Publia  fall  in  love.     Corresponding 


16  ROBERT   GREENE 

to  Euphues'  secluding  himself  at  Silexedra  is  Publia's  entrance 
into  a  convent.  And  corresponding  to  Euphues'  letters,  are 
the  letters  of  Mamillia  to  her  friend,  the  Lady  Modesta. 
This  definite  parallelism  is  sufficient  to  show  what  I  mean 
in  saying  that  Mamillia  is  planned  upon  Euphues.^ 

Not  in  form  only,  but  also  in  purpose,  was  Greene's  first 
novel  written  in  very  obvious  emulation  of  Lyly.  Although 
he  did  not  follow  the  exact  type  again,  Greene  began  to 
write  in  accordance  with  the  prominent  tradition  of  the 
time;  and  this  tradition  involved  not  only  the  form  of 
Euphues,  but  its  aim  as  well.  Lyiy's  purpose  was  primarily 
didactic.  His  method,  ostensibly  that  of  narrative,  has  some 
of  the  interest  which  arises  from  pure  narrative.  The  under- 
lying principle,  however,  is  of  another  kind.  Lyly  was  too 
close  to  the  older  school  of  Painter  and  Fenton,  too  thor- 
oughly imbued  with  the  newly  acquired  ideas  of  the 
Renaissance,  to  be  able  to  project  a  work  of  fiction  which 
should  be  free  from  the  encumbering  didacticism  of  the 
treatise.  I  do  not  mean  that  he  should  have  been  wholly 
free  from  it.  The  contrast  is  not  between  didacticism  and 
entertainment  pure  and  simple,  but  between  a  crude  didac- 
ticism which  comes  from  a  failure  to  assimilate  ideas  suffi- 
ciently to  secure  a  true  perspective,  and  an  artistic  criticism 
of  life.  A  notable  work  of  fiction  can  never  be  mere  enter- 
tainment. But  Lyly  was  so  filled  with  the  significance  of 
the  new  culture,  and  of  the  refinement  and  polish  of  expres- 
sion, that  he  mistook  these  subordinate  for  the  prominent 
elements.  His  purpose  was  not  first  to  create  a  novel  in 
our  modern  sense  of  the  word,  with  its  artistic  proportion 

*  Another  very  close  following  of  Euphues  is  the  opening  part  of 
Lodge's  Euphues  Shadow,  1592.  (The  Complete  Works  of  Thomas 
Lodge.  Ed.  by  Gosse,  Vol.  IL)  The  latter  part  of  Lodge's  story  is 
entirely  different,  but  the  opening  situation  is  identical  with  that  of 
Euphues. 


OMNE   TULIT   PUNCTUM  17 

both  of  pleasure  and  of  criticism,  but  to  open  new  matters 
of  polite  thought,  manners,  conversation,  to  the  minds  of 
the  English  court. 

Greene,  although  he  omits  Lyly's  element  of  satire,  also 
was  aiming  at  edification.  He  was  carrying  on  in  Mamillia 
the  tradition  of  the  treatise.  As  well  as  Lyly,  he  perceived 
the  value  of  refinement  in  thought,  of  elegance  in  expression, 
and  of  a  consciousness  of  endeavor  to  make  culture  a  part 
of  the  life  and  speech  of  the  English  people.  That  end  he 
saw  accomplished  by  Lyly;  and  he  tried,  upon  the  model 
of  his  predecessor,  to  bring  about  the  same  result.  His 
method  was  narration;  his  end,  instruction.  He  has  given 
us  therefore  a  novel  which  is  not,  on  the  whole,  unlike 
Euphues.^ 

This  is  not  saying  that  we  are  to  attach  to  Mamillia  the 
same  significance  that  we  give  to  Lyly's  work.  Although, 
as  Mr.  Bond^*'  admirably  points  out,  Lyly  found  at  hand 
practically  all  the  elements,  both  of  style  and  content,  which 
he  combined  to  produce  Euphues,  he  is  nevertheless  to  be 
given  credit  as  a  pioneer  in  that  he  first  created  what  is 
worthy  to  be  regarded  seriously  as  a  work  of  fiction.  In 
this  sense,  Lyly's  novel  is  more  important  than  Greene's. 
It  is  the  more  important,  too,  on  its  intrinsic  merits.  There 
is  in  it  a  somewhat  firmer  handling  of  the  materials,  a  deeper 

^  In  view  of  such  a  purpose  and  such  a  production,  we  can  hardly 
agree  with  the  statement  of  Mr.  Gosse  when  he  said,  in  speaking  of 
Mamillia,  "It  is  to  Greene  to  whom  the  credit  is  due  of  first  writing 
a  book  wholly  devoted  to  fictitious  adventure  in  prose."  (Hunterian 
Club.  The  Complete  Works  of  Thomas  Lodge.  Ed.  by  Edmund 
Gosse,  1883.  Introduction,  Vol.  I.,  p.  11.)  To  characterize  Mamillia 
—  the  First  Part  at  least  —  as  "fictitious  adventure"  and  thus  to 
distinguish  it  from  Euphues,  is,  it  seems  to  me,  utterly  to  misinterpret 
the  nature  of  the  work. 

i»  The  Complete  Works  of  John  Lyly.  Ed.  by  R.  Warwick  Bond, 
Clarendon  Press.     1902. 


18  ROBERT   GREENE 

understanding  of  motive,  a  more  effective  grasp  upon  the 
meaning  of  character.  Not  only  this,  perhaps  because  of 
this,  it  is  more  mature,  more  steady  in  its  aim  and  in  its 
method. 

We  are  not,  however,  to  be  blind  to  the  importance  of 
Greene's  work,  nor  to  discount  it  too  much  from  the  fact 
that  it  is  directly  a  copy.  Mamillia  has  most  of  the  imper- 
fections of  the  time,  infinite  niceties  of  Euphuistic  phrasing, 
tendency  to  clog  the  narrative  with  pedantic  speeches  and 
conversations,  shallowness  of  characterization.  But  super- 
ficial as  it  is,  it  is  not  ineffective.  Publia,  Mamillia,  and 
Pharicles  are  more  than  just  the  inverse  portraits  of  Phi- 
lautus,  Euphues,  and  Lucilla.  For  all  that  Pharicles'  trouble 
of  mind  over  his  inconstancy  is  not,  upon  examination, 
very  convincing,  it  will  endure  a  cursory  reading.^^  And 
if  the  narrative  element  is  slight  (it  must  be  remembered 
that  we  are  discussing  the  First  Part  only;  the  Second  Part 
belongs  with  the  romances),  it  has  at  the  same  time  a  certain 
degree  of  rapidity.  Pharicles  meets  Publia  immediately 
upon  his  acceptance  by  Mamillia.  The  whole  situation 
indeed  is  more  cleverly  conceived  than  in  Lyly.  Philautus 
takes  Euphues  to  Lucilla  for  the  purpose  of  introducing 
him  to  her.  The  introduction  is,  obviously,  to  make  oppor- 
tunity to  reveal  Lucilla's  fickleness.  In  Greene,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  introduction  is  manifestly  accidental.  Pharicles 
is  walking  with  Mamillia  for  the  sake  of  urging  his  suit.  It 
happens  that  she  is  going  to  Publia's  house.  Pharicles  goes 
along.  Inasmuch  as  Mamillia  has  just  granted  her  love  by 
the  time  they  arrive,  we  are  dumbfounded  at  Pharicles'  sud- 
den passion  for  Publia.  The  events  that  follow,  too,  occur 
in  quick  succession;  almost  before  we  know  it,  Pharicles 
is  betrothed  to  both,  and  off  and  away  to  Sicily. 

"  Dr.  Wolff  (Eng.  St.,  Vol.  37,  p.  358)  thinks  that  Mamillia  contains 
some  of  Greene's  best  characterization. 


OMNE   TULIT   PUNCTUM  19 

The  apparent  fortuitousness  of  Pharicles'  meeting  with 
PubUa  illustrates  what  I  think  is  Greene's  advance  over 
Lyly.  It  shows,  on  Greene's  part,  a  realization  of  what 
narrative,  as  distinct  from  treatise,  demands.  Euyhues  is 
a  treatise  which  came  near  being  a  story;  Mamillia  is  a 
story  which  retains  much  of  the  treatise.  Although  he 
was  striving  to  imitate  Lyly,  Greene's  nature  led  him  to  a 
slightly  different  result.  He  put  into  a  minor  relation  the 
very  things  for  the  sake  of  which,  perhaps,  he  wrote  the 
book,  and  elevated  those  which  his  fundamental  interest  in 
events  inevitably  made  prominent.  Even  in  his  first  pro- 
duction, when  his  purpose  was  to  teach,  he  developed  the 
ability,  which  he  was  later  to  develop  more  consciously,  of 
producing  work  with  real  narrative  art.  Omne  tulit  pundum 
qui  miscuit  utile  dulci.  Lyly,  it  may  be  said,  had  stressed 
the  utile.  Greene  found  the  value  of  the  dulci.  Such  a 
discovery  in  those  days  was  no  small  thing  for  a  lad  of 
twenty. 

(B)    The  Frame-work  Tales 

It  was  one  of  Greene's  most  deep-rooted  characteristics 
to  write  what  he  thought  he  would  have  a  market  for.  All 
through  his  life  he  was  doing  that.  "After  I  had  by 
degrees  proceeded  Maister  of  Arts,"  we  are  told,  "  .  .  . 
I  became  ...  a  penner  of  Love  Pamphlets  .  .  .  who 
for  that  trade  growne  so  ordinary  about  London  as  Robin 
Greene."  ^2  The  statement  comes  from  the  supersensi- 
tive brain  of  a  dying  man,  but  the  truth  of  it  applies 
elsewhere  to  Greene's  work.  Literature  was  a  trade  to  him, 
an  activity  to  be  followed  shrewdly  in  order  to  be  followed 
successfully. 

Fiction,  in  1580,  was  didactic.  Greene  would  therefore 
be   didactic.     Euphues  was  very  popular.     Greene  would 

^^  Repentance,  Vol.  XII.,  p.  17-23. 


20  ROBERT   GREENE 

write  a  novel  like  it.  Such  seems  to  have  been  the  origin 
of  Mamillia.  It  was  none  of  Greene's  intention,  when  he 
began,  to  do  more  than  disguise  the  similarity  between  his 
pamphlet  and  its  model.  Every  one  still  felt  the  need  of 
being  didactic,  or  at  least  of  pretending  to  be  so,^^  and 
Greene  meant  to  follow  fashion  and  be  as  didactic  as  the 
rest.^*  Incidentally  he  discovered  the  power  of  ordering 
events  in  a  way  to  give  real  narrative  interest.  The  story 
did  not  exactly  run  away  with  him;  but  it  broke  loose. 

There  is  in  Greene's  work  a  balancing  between  two  pur- 
poses. His  desire  always  to  be  in  fashion  brought  about 
these  results, — one  coming  from  his  conscious  aim  to  instruct, 
the  other  developing  as  a  by-product  into  a  freedom  of  art. 
Mamillia  marks  the  first  stage.  The  romances  mark  the 
last.  Between  the  two,  both  in  time  and  in  relationship, 
are  the  frame- work  tales  which  form  the  subject  of  this  di- 
vision of  the  chapter. 

To  the  composition  of  the  frame-work  tales  the  Italian 
Renaissance  contributed  the  two  elements  which  character- 
ize this  branch  of  Greene's  work.  There  was  the  influence 
which  came  from  the  Dialogues,  like  Bembo's  Gli  Asolani 
and  Castiglione's  II  Cortegiano;  and  which,  we  saw  earlier 
in  the  chapter,  was  already  felt  in  England  even  before  the 

^^  See  an  example  in  the  Adventures  of  Master  F.  J.,  which  Gascoigne 
concludes  in  these  words:  "Thus  we  see  that  where  wicked  lust 
doeth  beare  the  name  of  love,  it  doth  not  onely  infecte  the  lyght- 
minded,  but  it  maye  also  become  confusion  to  others  which  are  vowed 
to  constancie.  And  to  that  end  I  have  recyted  this  Fable,  which  may 
serue  as  ensample  to  warne  the  youthful!  reader  from  attempting  the 
lyke  worthless  enterprise."  (Gascoigne.  Ed.  W.  C.  Hazlitt.  Rox- 
burghe  Library,  1869.     Vol.  I.,  p.  486.) 

'*  "I  will  take  in  hand  to  discourse  of,  (Obedience)  that  both  we 
may  beguyle  the  night  with  prattle,  and  profite  our  mynds  by  some 
good  and  vertuous  precepts."  Penelopes  Web,  p.  162.  A  character- 
istic statement  of  Greene. 


OMNE   TULIT   PUNCTUM  21 

time  of  Greene.  In  the  Dialogue  of  this  type,  the  purpose 
was  cultural;  the  center  of  interest  was  on  what  was  said 
rather  than  upon  what  was  done, —  upon  polite  conversation, 
discussions  upon  questions  of  morality,  love,  fortune,  and  so 
forth ;  and  the  emphasis  was  about  equally  divided  between 
the  frame-work  and  the  included  matter.  There  was,  too, 
the  influence  of  the  frame-work  tale  proper,  of  the  kind  repre- 
sented by  Boccaccio's  Decameron.  Works  of  this  sort  tended 
to  minimize  the  importance  of  the  frame-work  and  to  throw 
the  emphasis  upon  the  included  stories.  The  purpose  was 
that  of  entertainment  more  than  of  culture. 

We  may  begin  with  Morando,  the  Tritameron  of  Love. 
Morando  resembles  the  treatise  in  its  purpose.  Perhaps  it 
should  not  even  be  called  a  novel  at  all.  The  Lady  Panthia, 
accompanied  by  her  three  daughters  and  three  young  gentle- 
men, is  spending  three  days  at  the  house  of  Morando.  On 
each  day  a  discussion  occurs  :^^  first.  Love  doth  much,  but 
money  doth  all;  second,  Whether  or  not  it  is  good  to  love; 
third,  Whether  women  or  men  are  more  subject  to  love. 
Hence  the  title  —  after  the  fashion  of  the  Decameron  and 
the  Heptameron  —  the  "Tritameron"  of  Love.  Each  ques- 
tion is  debated  by  one  of  the  young  couples.  Considerable 
opportunity  is  offered  for  a  certain  brilliancy  of  conversation 
and  repartee;  and  while  there  is  no  action,  there  is  some  inter- 
est in  the  development  of  the  characters.  By  the  time  the 
three  days'  discussion  is  over,  one  of  the  young  men  has 
fallen  in  love  with  one  of  the  young  ladies.  Then  all  go  to 
Panthia's  house  in  town,  from  where,  if  Greene  hears  what 

^^  Morando  and  several  other  novels  of  the  group  are  thus  examples 
of  the  dubii,  or  discussions  particularly  of  the  more  subtle  questions 
of  love,  which  constituted  for  many  decades  a  very  popular  amusement 
in  polite  circles.  They  dealt  with  just  such  topics  as  are  proposed  in 
Morando,  and  were  very  widespread  in  the  literature  of  the  Renais- 
sance, not  only  in  Italy  but  elsewhere. 


22  ROBERT   GREENE 

success  Silvestro  had,  he  will  let  us  have  news.  Greene 
heard  —  as  he  always  did  in  such  cases  —  of  Silvestro's 
success,  and  so  had  plenty  of  reason  to  publish  the  Second 
Part.  This  second  part  carries  on  the  love  affair  to  its 
happy  conclusion.  Thus  the  story  forms  a  setting  in  which 
are  embedded  some  further  discourses,  this  time  not  upon 
love,  but  upon  fortune  and  upon  friendship. ^^ 

Even  so  brief  an  analysis  will  serve  to  show  the  nature  of 
the  work.  It  can  be  seen  at  once  that  the  Tritameron 
has  more  story  than  is  to  be  found  in  the  treatises  proper, 
but  is  yet  distinctly  akin  to  them.  The  purpose  of  it  is  not 
narrative  primarily,  but  didactic, — designed  to  give  expres- 
sion to,  and  to  infuse  into  the  English  mind,  certain  thoughts 
upon  cultural  subjects,  however  conventional  those  thoughts 
and  purposes  might  be  or  might  become. 

Of  all  the  group,  Morando  takes  the  extreme  place  in  the 
direction  of  cultural  intention.     Next  to  it  are  the  pam- 

i«  Mr.  Hart  (Notes  and  Queries.  10th  Ser.  No.  5,  pp.  343,  443,  444.) 
has  pointed  out  that  these  discourses  are  not  original  with  Greene. 
They  were  extracted  by  him  from  Primaudaye's  Academy.  Primaudaye 
was  born  about  1545  of  a  family  of  Anjou,  and  was  a  man  of  consider- 
able renown  in  his  own  time.  His  works  were  chiefly  of  a  religious 
nature.  The  Academy  was  translated  in  1586  by  Thomas  Bowes  as 
the  " Platonical  Academy  &  Schoole  of  Moral  Philosophy."  Greene 
frequently  made  use  of  Bowes'  translation.  The  discourse  on  Friend- 
ship (Vol.  III.,  pp.  146-60)  is  taken  from  Primaudaye,  Chap.  XIII, 
"Of  Friendship  and  a  Friend."  Ten  lines  of  Primaudaye  are  lifted 
bodily.  "First  we  say  with  Socrates  that  .  .  .  (12  lines  skipped) 
.  .  .  Friendship  is  a  communion,"  etc.  The  discourse  of  Peratio 
upon  Fortune  (pp.  128-39)  is  from  Primaudaye,  Chap.  XLIV.  Greene 
omits  Primaudaye's  account  of  Tamburlaine.  The  discussion  on 
marriage  (pp.  164-6)  is,  incidentally,  from  Primaudaye,  Chap.  XLV. 
The  sexes  are  changed,  for  whereas  Primaudaye  writes  against  women, 
Greene  is  arguing  for  them. 

After  1586  many  of  Greene's  writings  show  large  verbal  borrowings 
from  Primaudaye. 


OMNE   TULIT   PUNCTUM  23 

phlets  which  make  up  Greene's  largest  body  of  work.  These 
are  the  frame-work  tales  which  have  stories  within  them- 
selves in  illustration  of  the  ideas  brought  out  in  the 
discussion.  Closest  to  Morando  in  didactic  elements  is 
Farewell  to  Folliey^  Signior  Farnese  goes,  with  his  wife  and 
three  daughters  and  four  young  gentlemen,  into  the  country. 
There  they  discuss  Follie  in  a  series  of  discourses  and  illus- 
trative tales.  From  the  fact  that  the  three  forms  of  Follie 
talked  of  are  Pride,  Lust,  and  Gluttony,  and  from  the  fact 
that  there  are  seven  young  people  in  the  company,  it  is 
surely  not  unreasonable  to  suppose  with  Professor  Morley^^ 
that  Greene  had  in  mind  to  make  the  Farewell  to  Follie  a 
treatise  on  the  seven  deadly  sins.^^ 

The  title-page  of  the  Censure  to  Philautus  is  undoubtedly 
the  best  comment  upon  that  work: 

"Euphues  his  censure  to  Philautus.  Wherein  is  presented  a  philo- 
sophical! combat  betweene  Hector  and  Achylles,  discovering  in  foure 
discourses,  interlaced  with  diverse  delightfull  Tragedies,  The  vertues 
necessary  to  be  incident  in  every  gentleman:    had  in  question  at  the 

"  This  pamphlet  is  often  spoken  of  in  connection  with  the  so-called 
repentance  novels.  The  only  way  in  which  it  can  be  so  connected 
with  them  (the  way  in  which  it  usually  is  connected  with  the  repent- 
ances) is  by  the  prefaces.  The  prefaces,  however,  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  work  itself,  unless  the  anatomizing  of  folly  be  called  "re- 
pentance." So  far  as  the  work  itself  is  concerned,  it  does  in  reality 
belong  with  the  treatise-narrative  group. 

18  English  Writers,  Vol.  X.,  pp.  94-5. 

1^  Mr.  Hart  (Notes  and  Queries,  Ser.  10,  No.  5)  cites  twenty  or 
more  passages  taken  directly  from  Primaudaye.  Among  the  most 
important  of  these  are  the  passages  on  marriage  (Vol.  IX.,  pp.  327-8) 
which  are  taken  from  Primaudaye  (Chap.  XLV.)  and  the  Tale  of  Cosimo 
(Vol.  IX.,  p.  298)  which  Greene  develops  into  a  story  from  the  headings 
of  the  tale  of  Menon  in  Primaudaye  (Chap.  XLVII.)  In  no  other  work 
does  Greene  borrow  so  extensively  from  Primaudaye.  In  Farewell  to 
Follie  he  also  made  use  of  Laneham's  Letter  (1575).  Passage  (Vol.  IX., 
p.  265)  is  taken  from  Laneham  (Burn's  reprint,  1821,  p.  29,  corrected 
by  Furnivall  in  Ballad  Society,  p.  22.     1871). 


24  ROBERT   GREENE 

siege  of  Troy  betwixt  sondry  Grecian  and  Trojan  Lords:  especially 
debated  to  discour  the  perfection  of  a  souldier.  Containing  mirth  to 
purge  melancholy,  holsome  precepts  to  profit  maners,  neither  unsauorie 
to  youth  for  delight,  nor  offensive  to  age  for  scurrilitie.  Ea  habentur 
optima  quae  &  lucunda,  honesta,  &  utilia." 

The  purpose,  as  can  be  seen,  is  similar  to  that  of  Castig- 
lione's  work,  in  this  case  to  set  forth  the  quahties  of  the 
perfect  soldier.  The  emphasis  is  only  apparently  upon 
the  didactic;  really  the  narrative  elements  were  more  im- 
portant in  Greene's  own  mind.  For  one-fifth  of  the 
novel  is  given  to  the  frame-work  and  the  background  — 
the  meetings  of  the  Greeks  and  Trojans,  both  soldiers 
and  women,  in  a  time  of  truce;  and  the  consequent  talking 
back  and  forth,^*'  with  the  final  decision  on  the  part  of  the 
men  to  "discover"  an  ideal  member  of  their  own  profession. 
One-fifth  is  devoted  to  the  set  speeches  such  as  were  found 
in  the  Tritameron  of  Love,  in  this  instance  on  Wisdom, 
Fortitude,  and  Liberality,  the  three  essentials  of  perfection 
in  arms.  And  three-fifths  are  consumed  in  the  relating  of  the 
' '  delightf uU  Tragedies. ' '  21 

"  Professor  Herford  (New  Shak.  Soc.  Ser.  1,  Pt.  2,  p.  186)  thinks 
there  is  some  relation  between  Greene's  conception  of  Cressida,  as  she 
is  shown  to  us  here,  and  Shakespeare's.  Greene's,  he  says,  more 
nearly  approaches  Shakespeare's  manner  than  any  other  version  in  its 
conception  of  the  heroine.  Greene  speaks  of  Cressida  who  was  "tickled 
a  little  with  a  selfe  conceit  of  her  owne  wit"  (Vol.  VI.,  p.  166)  —  a  sug- 
gestion of  the  pert,  impudent,  ingenious  Cressida  of  Shakespeare. 

I  think  we  can  agree  that  there  is  this  similarity  between  the  two 
Cressidas.  But  I  do  not  believe  we  can  go  so  far  as  to  say  with 
Grosart  (Englische  Studien  22:403)  that  "Shakespeare's  treatment  of 
'Troy's  tale  divine'  in  Troilus  and  Cressida  is  drawn  from  Euphues 
his  Censure." 

^^  How  definitely  Greene  meant  to  convey  the  impression  that  he 
was  writing  a  treatise  can  be  seen  by  his  own  remark  in  his  preface 
where,  attributing  the  work  to  Euphues,  he  speaks  of  it  as  a  work 
"wherein  under  the  shadow  of  a  philosophical!  combat  betweene  Hector 


OMNE   TULIT   PUNCTUM  25 

Belonging  with  the  Censure  to  Philautus  and  yet  going  a 
step  farther  toward  an  openly  expressed  delight  in  the  story 
elements  are  Penelopes  Web,  dating  from  the  same  year 
(1587),  expressly  a  "Christall  Myrror  of  faeminine  per- 
fection" intended  to  set  forth  the  virtues  of  womankind 
in  the  same  way  that  the  Censure  sets  forth  the  idea  of  the 
perfect  soldier;^  Alcida,^  in  which  the  principal  character 
is  an  old  woman  who  tells  the  stories  of  her  three  daughters, 
revealing  three  vanities,  Pride,  Inconstancy,  and  Proneness 
to  Gossip,  the  "discourse"  confirmed  with  "diverse  merry 
and  delightfuU  Histories" ;  ^^  Planetomachia,  a  discussion  with 

and  Achilles,  imitating  Tnllies  orator,  Platoes  common  wealth,  Bal- 
desars  courtier,  he  aymeth  at  the  exquisite  portraiture  of  a  perfect 
martialist."     Vol.  VI.,  p.  152. 

"  A  part  of  the  title-page  reads:  "In  three  several  discourses  also 
are  three  especiall  vertues,  necessary  to  be  incident  in  every  vertuous 
woman,  pithely  discussed:  namely  Obedience,  Chastitie,  and  Sylence: 
Interlaced  with  three  severall  and  Comicall  Histories.  By  Robert 
Greene,  Maister  of  Arts  in  Cambridge." 

Penelopes  Web  has  borrowings  from  Primaudaye's  Academy.  (Hart, 
Notes  and  Queries.     10th  Ser.  No.  5.) 

2^  Brie  (Englische  Studien,  42:  217  flf.)  attempts  to  determine  the 
date  of  Lyly's  Love's  Metamorphosis  on  the  ground  of  its  connection  with 
Alcida.  Without  raising  the  question  of  the  date  of  Lyly's  play,  I 
fail  to  see  any  such  intimate  relationship  between  the  novel  and  the 
play  as  in  any  way  to  think  the  former  the  source  of  the  latter.  Both 
involve  metamorphoses,  to  be  sure,  but  the  similarity  scarcely  goes 
beyond  that  point. 

^*  Storojenko  (Grosart's  Greene,  Vol.  I.,  p.  95)  is  puzzled  as  to  what 
should  have  caused  Greene  "to  change  his  front  so  suddenly,  and  to 
send  the  shafts  of  his  wit  against  the  very  sex  which  he  had  always 
so  highly  lauded."  Storojenko  is  linking  together  Nashe's  epithet, 
"Homer  of  women,"  (Nashe's  Works,  Ed.  McKerrow,  Vol.  I.,  p."^12) 
and  Greene's  own  words  in  Mamillia  (Vol.  II.,  pp.  106-7)  where  Greene 
sets  himself  up  against  the  slanderers  of  women.  To  be  puzzled  about 
a  seeming  change  of  front  is  to  take  Greene  too  seriously.  In  the  first 
place,  speeches  against  women  are  to  be  found  in  Mamillia  itself 
(Vol.  II.,  pp.  54,  221-2),  and  in  other  works  of  Greene.     In  the  second 


26  ROBERT   GREENE 

an  elaborate  preface  on  the  influence  of  the  planets,^^  con- 
taining two  tales  by  Saturn  and  Venus,  each  divinity  to  prove 
that  the  influence  of  the  other  is  the  more  malignant  in  the 
actions  of  men, — a  theme  similar  to  that  of  Lyly's  Woman 
in  the  Moon. 

There  are  two  more  novels  in  the  group,  Perymedes  and 
Orpharion.  These  are  at  the  opposite  extreme  from  Mo- 
rando.  For  while  there  is  a  semblance  of  a  purpose  for  having 
a  frame-work  —  in  the  case  of  Peryniedes  to  set  forth  a  pic- 
ture of  contented  lowly  life;  in  Orpharion  to  show  a  cure  for 
love  —  the  stories  which  make  up  the  novels  are  told  for 
their  own  sake.  This,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  Greene  in 
all  solemnity  declares  that  Perymedes  illustrates  "a  golden 
methode  how  to  use  the  minde  in  pleasant  and  profitable 
exercise;"  and  that  in  Orpharion  "as  in  a  Diateheron,  the 
branches  of  Vertue,  ascending  and  descending  by  degrees: 
are  counited  in  the  glorious  praise  of  women-kind." 

In  form,  Greene's  Vision  is  a  frame-work  pamphlet.  But 
the  tales  are  really  incidental  both  in  proportion  and  in  inter- 
est, although  one  of  them,  the  Tale  of  Tompkins,  is  among  the 
most  skilful  of  Greene's  stories.  The  Vision,  being  an 
account  of  a  religious  experience,  may  therefore  be  dis- 
place, it  is  not  known  that  Nashe  is  referring  to  Greene  at  all  (Nashe, 
Ed.  McKerrow,  Vol.  IV.,  p.  14).  And  in  the  third  place,  Aldda  is  not 
necessarily  a  misogynic  pamphlet.  It  is  not  against  women  in  general. 
It  is  merely  against  certain  faults  in  women's  natures —  simply  a 
didactic  narrative. 

^  This  preface  is  not  original  with  Greene.  He  gets  it  from  Pontano's 
dialogue  called  Aegidius  (Prose  Works,  Venice,  1519,  Vol.  II.).  "At 
the  beginning  of  Planetomachia,  Greene  takes  over  nearly  verbatim, 
in  the  original  Latin,  seven  pages  of  this  dialogue  (beginning  at  page 
168),  substituting  his  own  name  " Robertus  Grenus"  and  that  of  his 
friend  "  Fransiscus  Handus,"  for  the  names  of  Pardus  and  Fransiscus 
Pudericus  respectively,  wherever  these  occur  in  the  original."  (S.  L. 
Wolff.     Eng.  St.     Vol.  37,  p.  333,  note  1.) 


OMNE   TULIT   PUNCTUM  27 

cussed  in  the  next  chapter  among  the  repentance  pamphlets. 
Strictly  speaking,  two  others  of  Greene's  novels,  Never  too 
Late,  with  its  sequel,  Francescos  Fortunes,  and  Arbasto, 
belong  with  this  group.  But  for  the  reason  that  these  two 
novels  contain  only  one  tale  each,  and  that  in  both  novels 
the  included  tales  so  put  the  frame-work  out  of  mind  as  to 
make  it  entirely  negligible,  they  are  best  considered  in  the 
groups  where  they  properly  belong,  the  latter  with  the 
romances,  the  former  with  the  prodigal-son  stories. 

The  interest  of  these  pamphlets  for  the  modern  reader  is, 
in  most  cases,  in  the  tales.  It  is  the  interest  which  arises 
from  the  narrative  rather  than  from  the  didactic  elements. 
This  probably  was  less  true  to  Greene's  contemporaries. 
Although  the  frame-work  is  not  entirely  without  significance 
even  for  us,  to  them  it  was,  no  doubt,  the  more  vital  part. 
For  Greene  imbued  it  with  considerable  of  the  spirit  of 
Renaissance  thought,  and  he  conveyed  through  it  to  his 
readers  much  that  was  essentially  cultural  in  content  and 
in  aim.  He  was,  then,  not  merely  the  writer  of  didactic 
frame-works  embellished  with  incidental  tales;  he  was  an 
apostle  of  the  new  learning  and  all  that  it  represented.  He 
was  journalistic,  he  made  his  living  by  putting  out  these 
pamphlets.  But  such  considerations  do  not  alter  the  fact 
that  he  did  much,  along  with  earning  his  bread,  to  familiarize 
his  readers  with  ideas  of  refinement  in  conversation  and  life, 
with  precepts  of  morality,  with  questions  of  sentiment  and 
passion,  with  discourses  on  the  virtues  and  vices  of  mankind. ^^ 

There  are  in  all  more  than  twenty  of  the  included  tales. 

2^  For  a  full  discussion  of  this  subject  of  Greene  as  an  introducer 
of  Italian  culture  see  Dr.  S.  L.  Wolff's  article  (published  in  Englische 
Studien,  1906-7,  Vol.  37)  entitled,  "Robert  Greene  and  the  Italian 
Renaissance."  Dr.  Wolff  discusses  the  influence  of  the  Renaissance 
upon  Greene  as  being  of  two  kinds;  that  which  Greene  assimilated 
in  such  a  way  as  to  treat  imaginatively  in  his  own  work,  such  as  plots 


28  ROBERT   GREENE 

The  tabulation  of  them  in  chronological  order  will  show  in 
the  most  concrete  way  possible  the  range  of  subject  and 
genre.2^  Such  a  tabulation,  however,  shows  nothing  of  the 
structure  or  of  the  eTjcellence  of  Greene's  work.  It  may  be 
well,  then,  to  illustrate  Greene's  narrative  art. 

We  may  take  the  story  of  Tompkins  the  Wheelwright,  for 
example,  —  Chaucer's  Tale  in  Greenes  Vision  (Vol.  XII.). 
This  tale  belongs  to  the  old  fabliau  type,  which  is  in  itself 
well  freed  from  ethical  purpose.  It  is  not  the  aim  of  the 
type  to  portray  character,  except  incidentally,  or  to  bear  in- 
struction. The  good  fabliau  is  primarily  narrative,  consist- 
ing always  of  a  well-knit  stor3^  It  is  clear  even  when  it  is 
elaborate.  Its  method  is  straightforward,  ever  selecting  the 
significant  detail  necessary  to  forward  the  action.  It  is 
compact,  unadorned,  effective. 

Near  Cambridge  lived  a  wheelwright  named  Tompkins. 
He  fell  in  love  with  a  dairymaid  who  sold  cream  in  Cam- 
bridge. Her  name  was  Kate.  She  loved  him  too,  and  her 
father  consented  to  the  marriage.  Kate  continued  to  sell 
her  cream.  Tompkins  became  jealous  of  the  scholars  at 
Cambridge  and  finally  became  jealous  of  everybody.  Kate 
perceived  his  jealousy  and  was  grieved.  She  was  friendly 
with  a  scholar  whom  she  asked  to  rid  her  husband  of  jealousy. 
They  devised  a  plan. 

On  Friday  Tompkins  took  his  wife  to  her  father's  while  he 
went  to  Cambridge.  He  met  a  scholar  who  asked  him 
where  he  lived.  He  said  at  Grandchester.  Scholar  asked 
if  he   knew   Tompkins,   the   wheelwright.     Tompkins   said 

and  motifs;  and  that  which  he  used  but  did  not  so  assimilate  —  ideas 
about  science,  literature,  education,  politics,  society,  which  became 
a  part  of  his  mental  content  and  changed  his  views  of  life,  and  adventi- 
tious material  which  enlarged  his  stock  of  information  and  furnished 
literary  ornament. 
^'  See  Appendix  I. 


OMNE    TULIT    PUNCTUM  29 

he  was  his  neighbor.  Scholar  said  that  Tompkins  was  the 
most  famous  cuckold  in  the  country,  and  offered  to  prove 
the  statement  the  next  day  when  Kate  was  in  town.  Tomp- 
kins was  to  meet  the  scholar  at  an  inn. 

The  next  day  Tompkins  bade  his  wife  go  to  market,  for 
he  was  ill,  he  said.  Then  he  went  to  Cambridge  to  the 
inn.  He  met  the  scholar,  and  they  went  to  a  chamber 
window.  Tompkins  saw  his  wife  sitting  on  a  scholar's 
lap  eating  cherries.  Then  he  and  the  scholar  drank 
together.  Tompkins  was  given  a  sleeping  potion,  and  they 
all  made  merry,  while  Tompkins  slept.  Late  at  night  they 
carried  Tompkins  home. 

About  midnight  he  awoke  and  began  to  rail  at  his  wife. 
Then  he  saw  that  he  was  at  home  in  bed,  and  he  could  not 
understand  it.  He  said  that  he  had  seen  his  wife  on  a 
scholar's  lap,  eating  cherries.  They  persuaded  him  that  he 
had  been  very  ill,  and  that  it  was  all  mere  fancy.  Thus 
was  Tompkins  cured  of  his  jealousy. 

The  Tale  of  the  Farmer  Bridegroom  in  Groatsworth  of  Wit 
belongs  in  the  class  with  that  of  Tompkins.  Not  all  of 
Greene's  tales,  however,  rank  with  these  two.  Some  of 
them  are  poorly  done  and  dull;  indeed  the  fact  cannot  be 
overlooked  that,  however  popular  in  its  day,  much  of 
Greene's  work  is  commonplace  to  us.  But  every  man  has 
the  right  to  be  measured  by  his  highest  attainments.  In  the 
final  consideration  there  is  this  quality  which  demands 
recognition.  When  he  is  at  his  best,  Greene  is  able  to  tell  a 
story  well.  He  has  an  understanding  of  what  a  plot  is,  and 
he  makes  his  narrative  move.  Most  of  Greene's  work  is  of 
course  impeded  by  Euphuistic  ornament  and  didactic  talk, 
but  the  story  is  usually  well  conceived  and  developed. 

Entirely  different  is  the  tale  of  Valdracko,  —  Venus'  Trage- 
die  in  Planetomachia.  Valdracko,  Duke  of  Ferrara,  was  a 
crabbed  man.     Though  he  was  just  and  politic  as  a  ruler,  he 


30  ROBERT   GREENE 

was  not  liked  privately.  He  trusted  no  one.  Valdracko  had 
a  daughter  called  Pasylla,  who  was  loved  by  Rodento,  son 
of  II  Conte  Coelio,  Valdracko's  bitter  enemy.  (The  love 
affair  is  long  drawn  out.)  One  day  Valdracko  went  to  his 
daughter's  room  to  speak  to  her.  She  was  not  there,  but  he 
found  one  of  Rodento's  letters  and  Pasylla's  answer  to  it. 
He  made  up  his  mind  to  be  avenged  on  the  family  of  Coelio. 

There  was  a  great  meeting  of  the  nobles  of  Ferrara.  Val- 
dracko asked  Coelio  to  stay  after  the  meeting,  and  made 
proffer  of  reconciliation.  The  proffer  was  accepted,  to  the 
joy  of  the  Senate,  and  Valdracko  took  Coelio  home  with  him 
to  dinner.  He  called  his  daughter  to  him  and  told  her  of 
his  plan  for  her  to  marry  Rodento.  Pasylla  said  she  was 
willing,  Rodento  was  sent  for,  and  the  marriage  was  arranged 
for  the  next  spring. 

Meantime  Valdracko  decided  to  hire  a  ruffian  to  murder 
Coelio.  Within  a  few  days  the  ruffian  had  killed  Coelio  with 
a  pistol.  But  he  was  captured,  and  brought  before  the 
Senate.  Valdracko,  pretending  great  sorrow  at  his  friend's 
death,  ordered  the  man's  tongue  cut  out.  Pasylla  and  Ro- 
dento were  greatly  grieved  at  Coelio's  death.  Valdracko 
had  the  murderer  put  to  death  in  torment.  Soon  after, 
Rodento  and  Pasylla  were  married  with  much  ceremony,  and 
Valdracko  spent  great  sums  of  money  upon  the  marriage 
feast. 

After  five  months  Valdracko  began  thinking  how  he  might 
be  rid  of  Rodento.  He  went  to  a  house  of  his  three  miles 
from  Ferrara,  from  where  he  sent  a  letter  to  his  cup-bearer 
to  poison  Rodento,  promising  great  reward.  The  cup- 
bearer carried  out  the  orders  the  next  morning.  Within 
four  hours  Rodento  died.  Pasylla  was  greatly  grieved.  The 
cup-bearer  had  pangs  of  conscience.  He  gave  her  her  father's 
letter,  and  died.  When  Valdracko  came  home  he  pretended 
sorrow  for  Rodento's  death,  but  Pasylla  had  vowed  revenge. 


OMNE    TULIT    PUNCTUM  31 

When  he  had  gone  to  sleep,  she  went  to  his  chamber  and 
bound  him  to  his  bed.  She  awakened  him  and  killed  him 
with  a  sword.  She  took  pen  and  ink  and  wrote  out  the  story ; 
then  she  killed  herself  with  the  same  sword. 

This  tale  is  distinctly  a  product  of  the  Italian  Renaissance. 
It  might  well  be  —  and  may  be,  for  all  anybody  knows  —  a 
translation  of  one  of  the  novelle.  The  story  is  full  of  Italian 
incidents  and  motifs  :^^  murders,  revenge,  treachery.  It  has 
in  it  passion  of  love  and  hate,  intensity  of  movement.  That 
the  action  is  somewhat  slow  in  starting  must  be  admitted, 
being  delayed  by  the  conventionality  of  the  process  of  young 
people's  falling  in  love.  But  once  set  going  the  trend  of 
events  is  sure,  the  movement  steady  toward  the  tragic  end. 

The  principal  characters  are  of  course  Valdracko  and  Pa- 
sylla,  the  father  and  his  beautiful  daughter.  About  Pasylla 
there  is  nothing  of  particular  import.  She  is  passionate  and 
faithful  in  her  love;  and  she  is  unflinching  in  her  revenge. 
But  Greene  does  not  present  her  differentiated  from  the 
type  of  beautiful  heroines  who  can,  on  occasion,  show  a 
ferocious  fortitude  —  the  gentle  lady  murderers  so  common 
in  the  literature  of  the  Renaissance.  Nor  does  he  imbue  her 
with  a  personality  so  distinct  as  to  arouse  in  us  genuine 
sympathy  for  her  revenge  or  for  her  death. 

Valdracko,  too,  is  only  a  type.  But  he  is  a  type  which 
comes  very  near  to  being  a  character.     He  is  a  man  impla- 

28  "The  story  of  Valdracko,  in  Planetomachia,  is  full  of  Italian 
motifs.  That  of  the  old  woman  go-between  who  transmits  to  the  lover 
what  is  ostensibly  his  own  love  letter  disdainfully  returned,  but  what  is 
really  an  encouraging  reply,  may  well  have  come  from  Boccaccio's  story 
of  the  confessor  as  go-between  —  Decam.  III.,  3  (not  noticed  by  Koep- 
pel).  There  is,  too,  a  typical  Italian  poisoning,  and  a  general  family 
slaughter  —  father  killing  son-in-law,  daughter  killing  father  and  her- 
self —  which  recalls  Cinthio's  tragedy  of  Orbecche,  or  his  narrative 
version  of  the  same  story  in  Hecatomm.  II.,  2."  (Wolff,  Eng.  Stud., 
Vol.  37,  p.  346,  note  1.) 


32  ROBERT   GREENE 

cable  in  his  hatred.  There  is  no  sacrifice  too  great,  be  it  his 
own  daughter.  There  is  no  treachery  too  violent.  Greene 
has  presented  us  with  a  unified  conception.  Valdracko  is 
consistently  portrayed  —  with  one  exception.  We  cannot 
understand  the  depth  of  his  motive  as  co-ordinate  with  the 
terribleness  of  his  actions.  We  cannot  feel  that  Valdracko 
moves  wholly  from  within.  To  the  extent  that  he  is  moved 
by  his  creator  he  falls  short  of  real  personality. 

We  are  here  making  one  of  our  most  serious  criticisms 

I  upon  Greene's  art  in  fiction.  Greene  gets  hold,  to  a  remark- 
able degree,  of  the  nature  of  narrative  so  far  as  the  choice 
and  arrangement  of  events  is  concerned.  His  sense  for  action 
is  strong.  His  ability  in  characterization,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  not  so  well  developed.  He  seldom  presents  more  than 
tjrpes.  Although  his  presentation  is  often  a  refinement  upon 
that  of  his  predecessors,  and  although  he  succeeds  in  idealiz- 
ing certain  kinds  of  personality,  his  characterization  is  always, 
in  his  novels,  inadequate.  Greene  has  not  enough  insight 
into  the  depths  of  human  nature  to  gain  a  full  conception 
of  the  sources  of  action.  He  does  not  relate  sufficiently  a. 
motive  for  conduct,  and  the  conduct  itself. 

This  is  a  serious  criticism.  But  to  say  so,  is  not  also  to 
say  that  it  is  a  severe  one.  We  must  remember  that  in  1585 
Shakespeare  had  not  begun  to  write,  that  Marlowe  had  pro- 
duced nothing,  that  Kyd  had  not  even  written  the  Spanish 
Tragedy.  Greene  had  few  models  in  English  Literature,^^ 
for  no  one  had  yet  opened  the  eyes  of  English  men  of 
letters  to  a  realization  of  what  it  was  possible  to  do  in  the 
creation  of  character  when  creative  power  was  at  its  highest. 
Greene's  supreme  achievement  is  Valdracko,  which,  we  have 
said,  falls  short.     Greene  had  not  intensity  enough  of  imagi- 

^  Sidney's  Arcadia  with  its  minute  and  keen  analysis  of  character 
was  written  before  1585,  but  there  is  no  way  of  knowing  whether  Greene 
had  read  it. 


OMNE    TULIT    PUNCTUM  33 

nation  to  raise  him  above  the  sphere  of  type  into  the  sphere 
of  personality;  so  the  story  of  Valdracko  remains  a  tale,  — 
not  a  tragedy.     But  the  wonder  is  not  that  Greene  failed. 

In  conclusion,  my  discussion  of  the  frame-work  tales  may 
require  a  word  of  explanation.  Greene's  career  in  fiction, 
chronologically,  was  from  the  treatise  to  the  romance,  — 
from  the  utile  to  the  dulci,  through  the  frame-work  tales, 
which  were  both.  In  view  of  that  general  development  I 
have  taken  up  the  frame-work  tale  as  a  progression  from  the 
one  extreme  to  the  other.  It  must  be  remembered  that  I 
have  done  so  only  for  the  sake  of  classification  and  clearness. 
The  order  here  is  not  at  all  that  in  which  they  were  written. 

We  can  easily  be  led  astray  by  the  evolutionary  idea  in  the 
case  of  a  man  like  Greene  whose  work  in  fiction  as  a  whole 
does,  at  first  sight,  seem  to  have  been  the  result  of  a  con- 
scious development.  For  we  have  first  Mamillia,  the  didac- 
tic treatise;  then  about  1586  and  '87  a  series  of  frame-work 
tales;  and  finally  in  1588  and  '89  a  group  of  romances,  narra- 
tives pure  and  simple.  The  division,  however,  is  by  no  means 
exact.  Greene's  second  work,  for  instance,  was  a  romance. 
And  so  was  his  third,  and  his  fourth  —  this  last  in  a  prodigal- 
son  frame-work.  Moreover,  after  he  had  left  romances,  and 
had  turned  to  another  form  of  writing,  Greene  appeared  with 
one  of  the  most  didactic  of  his  frame-work  tales.  Such  con- 
siderations prevent  any  belief  that  Green's  novels  represent 
a  real  progression  in  his  mind. 

The  development,  if  there  had  been  one,  would  have  been 
in  accordance  with  Greene's  natural  ability.  His  real  power, 
if  he  had  only  known  it,  was  in  narrative.  But  as  I  shall 
have  occasion  to  state  later,  Greene  did  not  fully  realize 
wherein  his  talent  lay.  He  developed  technique,  methods 
of  meeting  definite  problems  of  literary  presentation  and  ex- 
pression. In  this  sense  there  is  distinct  progress  in  his  work. 
Of  the  difference,  however,  between  the  two  elements  of  the 


34  ROBERT   GREENE 

frame-work  tale  he  seems  to  have  been  unaware.  The  cul- 
tural element  of  the  frame-work  was  quite  as  significant  as 
the  included  tale.  He  felt  no  need  —  there  isn't  much,  for 
that  matter,  —  for  drawing  a  distinction  between  didacti- 
cism, which  was  his  crude  but  only  criticism  of  life,  and  the 
capability  of  giving  pleasure  which  a  work  of  art  must  have. 
We  cannot,  therefore,  regard  this  division  of  Greene's  work 
as  more  than  a  miscellaneous  collection  of  pamphlets,  most 
of  them  fortuitously  centered  around  the  year  1587.  To  him 
they  were  not  in  any  way  a  link  between  the  treatise  and  the 
artistic  narrative. 

(C)     The  Romances 

From  these  frame-work  tales,  we  pass  to  the  next  group  of 
Greene's  novels.  This  is  the  group  which  belongs  to  the  ro- 
mantic fiction  that  was  prominent  for  several  years  during 
Greene's  career.  It  is  true  that  we  most  often  associate  the 
idea  of  this  romantic  fiction  with  that  of  Sidney's  Arcadia. 
But  the  Arcadia  is  only  one  of  the  class  of  Elizabethan  ro- 
mances, which,  influenced  by  various  models,  such  as  Italian 
and  Spanish  pastorals,  were  inspired  chiefly  by  the  translation 
of  the  Greek  Romances.^'' 

The  nature  of  the  Greek  Romances  we  need  not  take  up  at 
length,  with  their  emphasis  upon  the  picturesque,  the  rhe- 
torical, the  fanciful,  the  diversified,  rather  than  the  unified, 
expression  of  life.  For  the  Greek  Romancer  we  know  that 
life  moves  not  as  a  whole,  governed  by  physical  and  moral 
law,  and  that,  for  him,  events  follow  events  not  in  relation 
of  causation  but  of  chajuce.  The  activities  of  life  are  unmoti- 
vated.    There  is  no  interaction  between  environment  and 

^°  In  the  discussion  of  Greene's  relation  to  Greek  Romance,  I  am 
much  indebted  to  Dr.  S.  L.  Wolff  who  has  treated  this  subject  with 
thoroughness  in  his  The  Greek  Romances  in  Elizabethan  Fiction.  Colum- 
bia University  Press,  1912. 


OMNE   TULIT   PUNCTUM  35 

human  destiny,  nor  indeed  between  human  character  and 
human  conduct.  Sentiment  is  mere  sentimentality;  nature 
is  mere  spectacle.  The  dissociation  of  the  ideas  of  cause 
and  result  leaves  to  Fortune  the  direction  of  human  activity. 
To  their  incalculableness,  the  interest  in  events  is  due;  and 
so  the  "paradoxical,  the  bizarre,  the  inconsistent,  the  self- 
contradictory —  these  were  the  stock  in  trade  with  the  writers 
of  Greek  Romance."  Such  interests  manifest  themselves 
in  style  —  antithesis,  alliteration,  parallelism,  tendency  to 
psychologize,  elaborate  pictures,  trial-scenes,  and  debates; 
and  they  lead  at  once  to  a  superabundance  of  episodic  ma- 
terial. The  subordination  of  plot  and  character,  both  often 
lost  in  digressions,  elevates  the  significance  of  Fortune  and  of 
sentiment,  against  the  first  of  which  many  a  tirade  is  directed, 
and  upon  the  second  of  which  much  energy  of  analysis  is 
expanded. 

Concerning  the  accessibility,  too,  of  these  romances  to 
Greene,  only  a  word  is  needed.  The  Ethiopian  History  of 
Heliodorus  was  current  in  Underdowne's  translation  even  be- 
fore Lyly  wrote  his  Euphues.  Angel  Day  published  a  ver- 
sion of  the  Daphnis  and  Chloe  of  Longus  in  1587  which  at  once 
had  its  effect  upon  Greene.  The  first  translation  in  English 
of  Achilles  Tatius'  Clitophon  and  Leucippe  was  not  made  until 
1597.  That  translation  was  too  late  to  have  any  effect  upon 
Elizabethan  fiction,  but  there  were  versions  of  the  romance 
in  Latin,  Italian,^^  and  French,  which  were  well  known  in 
England  before  the  time  of  Greene. 

In  speaking  of  the  influence  of  the  Greek  Romances  upon 
any  one  man  in  the  Elizabethan  period,  however,  it  does  not 

31  Joseph  de  Perott  (Mod.  Lang.  Notes,  Vol.  XXIX.,  No.  2,  p.  63, 
Feb.  1914)  believes  that  Greene  used  an  Italian  version  of  Achilles 
Tatius,  as  follows:  Di  Achilli  Tatic  Allessandrino  delVamor  di  Leucippe 
et  di  Clitophonte  libri  otto  Tradotti  in  volgare  da  Francesco  Angela  Cocdo. 
In  Venetia,  Appresso  da  Domenico,  &  Gio  BattistaGuerra,  fratelli,  1563. 


36  ROBERT   GREENE 

seem  to  me  that  we  must  necessarily  assume  that  all 
this  influence  came  directly  from  the  original  romances. 
A  particular  author,  Greene  for  instance,  may  not  have 
taken,  and  probably  did  not  take,  every  incident  which 
is  common  to  his  works  and  to  the  Greek  Romances 
straight  from  the  Romances  themselves.  This  influence 
was  widespread  throughout  the  literature  of  the  continent; 
and  by  the  time  that  Greene  began  to  write,  many  of 
the  most  typical  of  the  structural  elements  of  Greek 
Romance  had  become  a  part  of  the  flesh  and  bone  of 
Elizabethan  fiction.  In  many  instances,  moreover,  the  in- 
fluence of  mediaeval  romance  must  be  taken  into  account  in 
discussing  the  directness  with  which  any  particular  element 
came  into  Elizabethan  fiction. 

These  novels  of  Greene  which  show  predominantly  the 
influence  of  the  Greek  Romances  have  in  them  nothing  which 
savors  of  the  treatise.  They  may,  as  does  Pandosto,  "dis- 
cour  the  triumph  of  time;"  or,  as  Menaphon,  "decipher  the 
variable  effects  of  Fortune,  the  wonders  of  Loue,  the  triumphs 
of  inconstant  time."  But,  although  they  were,  according  to 
their  title-pages,  printed  for  purposes  of  morality,  they  are 
fiction  pure  and  simple,  fiction  of  love,  adventure,  jealousy, 
separation,  reunion  of  kindred,  motivated  largely  by  the 
caprice  of  Fortune  and  the  wilfulness  of  man. 

The  tendency  of  Greek  Romance  to  minimize  character  and 
motive,  and  to  make  Fortune  become  the  basis  of  plot,  was 
one  which  fitted  in  well  with  Greene's  nature,  for  Greene  had 
an  eye  to  the  narrative  effect.  In  following  out  their  influ- 
ence he  was  free  to  give  sway  to  his  native  interest  in 
events,  and  he  was  at  the  same  time  relieved  from  any 
considerable  problems  of  characterization.  Fortune  took  all 
the  responsibility  to  keep  the  story  moving;  she  became  the 
center  around  which  were  grouped  various  people  and  actions. 

In  this  class  of  romantic  fiction,  we  should  include  first  of 


VOMNE    TULIT    PUNCTUM  37 

all  the  Second  Part  of  Mamillia.  The  First  Part,  as  we 
have  seen,  belongs  to  the  didactic  type  of  Euphues.  The 
Second  Part  is  essentially  romantic.  After  Pharicles  has  left 
Padua,  the  two  faithful  women  constant  still,  he  goes  to 
Sicily.  He  grows  into  favor  at  the  court,  has  various  experi- 
ences, is  denounced  as  a  traitor  by  a  courtezan  of  the  place 
whom  he  has  spurned,  is  cast  into  prison,  condemned  to  die, 
and  finally  is  rescued  by  Mamillia,  the  only  character  of  the 
action  of  the  First  Part,  besides  Pharicles,  who  has  any  defi- 
nite place  in  the  action  of  the  Second  Part.  Throughout  the 
Second  Part,  there  are  many  elements,  to  be  sure,  which 
come  from  Euphues,  but  the  principal  narrative  is  that  of 
the  romantic  kind. 

The  Second  Part  of  Ma7niUia  was  published  in  1583.  The 
following  year  Greene  published  two  novels  which  are  of  this 
same  type.  One  of  them  is  Arbasto,  the  story  which  an  old 
man  living  alone  in  a  cell  tells  to  a  stranger.  He  had  been 
a  prince,  he  said.  When  he  was  on  an  expedition  of  war,  he 
had  fallen  in  love  with  his  enemy's  daughter.  The  princess 
did  not  return  his  affection;  but  her  sister,  whom  the  prince 
disregarded,  fell  in  love  with  him.  Because  this  sister  re- 
leased him  from  her  father's  prison,  he  dissembled  love  and 
took  her  with  him  to  his  own  country.  Later  discovering 
that  his  love  was  only  dissimulation,  she  died  of  grief.  The 
haughty  princess  then  took  it  into  her  head  to  love,  but  the 
prince  spurned  her  as  violently  as  he  had  formerly  loved  her. 
The  nobles  revolted  to  avenge  his  wife's  death,  and  drove 
him  from  his  throne.  So  he  lives  in  his  cell,  throwing  the 
blame  for  the  whole  affair  upon  Fortune,  whom  he  spites  by 
his  contentment  with  a  lowly  lot.  The  Carde  of  Fancie  be- 
longs with  this  romantic  group,  but  it  is  discussed  elsewhere 
on  account  of  its  relation  to  the  prodigal-son  stories.^^ 

We  come  then  to  Pandosto,  1588.  The  germ  of  this  ro- 
'2  Chap.  III.,  p.  66. 


38  ROBERT   GREENE 

mance  probably  goes  back  to  an  incident  in  the  history  of 
Poland  and  Bohemia.^^  A  fourteenth  century  king,  Siemo- 
witsch,  or  Ziemowit,  becoming  suspicious  of  his  Bohemian 
wife,  put  her  into  prison,  where  she  bore  a  son.  The  queen 
was  then  strangled,  and  the  son  was  sent  away.  The  child 
was  brought  up  by  a  peasant  woman,  and  was  finally  restored 
to  his  father,  who  died  deeply  repentant  in  1381.  The  story, 
it  is  thought,  was  carried  to  England  at  the  time  when  Ann 
of  Bohemia  was  married  to  Richard  II. 

Pandosto,  in  the  general  outline,  follows  the  historical  inci- 
dent, except  that  it  is  a  daughter,  not  a  son,  who  is  born  in 
the  prison.  We  do  not  know  in  what  form  the  story  came 
to'  Greene.  It  may  have  been  in  something  of  the  shape 
that  we  have  it  from  his  pen,  in  which  case  the  work 
may  be  only  a  retelling.  Greene's  romance,  however,  is 
distinctly  of  the  Greek  type.  The  historical  elements  easily 
fitted  in  with  such  a  method  of  treatment.  The  nucleus 
was  there.  All  that  was  needed  was  to  gather  about  it  an 
abundance  of  Greek  structural  elements. 

That  is  what  Greene  did.  He  worked  out,  for  example, 
quite  in  the  method  of  Heliodorus,  an  elaborate  trial-scene 
and  the  use  of  the  oracle  for  the  vindication  of  chastity.  He 
borrowed  from  Longus  the  description  of  Fawnia's  life  among 
the  shepherds  after  she  was  committed  to  the  destiny  of  the 
sea,  —  the  details  of  the  Shepherd's  finding  her,  her  rural  life, 
and  her  later  disclosure  to  her  father.  There  was  added,  too, 
the  romantic  story  of  the  love  of  Fawnia  and  Dorastus,^^  son 

33  See  Eng.  Stud,  for  1878,  1888,  where  the  source  of  Pandosto  is 
discussed  by  Caro.  Also  Herford,  Eversley  Shakespeare,  Vol.  IV.,  p.  265. 

3*  De  Perott  (Englische  Studien,  1908,  p.  308)  in  an  article,  Robert 
Greenes  Entlehnung  aus  dem  Ritterspiegel,  directs  attention  to  what  he 
calls  a  borrowing  {Pandosto  —  Shak.  Library.  Vol.  IV.,  p.  45,  line  13  — 
p.  49,  line  14)  from  Le  Chevalier  du  Soliel,  Vol.  III.,  ff.  308-9).  I  fail 
to  see  any  resemblance  worthy  to  be  called  a  "borrowing."  The  situa- 
tion is  one  which  might  be  found  in  any  pastoral  romance. 


OMNE    TULIT    PUNCTUM  39 

to  the  Egistus  who  had  been  the  object  of  Pandosto's  sus- 
picions, and  to  the  shores  of  whose  kingdom  Fortune  brought 
the  Httle  outcast  and  her  boat.  He  made  this  love  the  means 
of  Fawnia's  return,  for  he  employed  the  structural  device 
whereby  the  shipwreck  of  the  eloping  lovers  brought  Fawnia 
again  home.^^ 

It  is  highly  characteristic  of  Greene  that  Pan^^o  is  his 
■firgt  pastoraL  While  pastoralism  had  already  made,  and  was 
making,  itself  felt  in  England,  Greene  had  not  introduced  it 
into  his  works.  There  was  no  particular,  no  immediate,  de- 
mand for  it.  Arbasto  and  the  Cards  of  Fancie,  written  earlier, 
are  both  free  from  the  elements  of  shepherd's  hfe.  But  in 
1587  Angel  Day's  version  of  Daphnis  and  Chloe  appeared,  a 
work  so  distinctly  pastoral  as  to  direct  Greene's  energies  to 
an  attempt  at  something  of  the  same  kind.  There  is  no 
doubt,  therefore,  that  Angel  Day  is  responsible  for  Pandosto 
and  Menaphon,  its  successor  of  the  following  year.^*^ 

I  In  Menaphon,  pastoralism  is  of  much  more  importance 
han  in  Pandosto.  The  romance  does  not  open  with  pastoral 
elements,  to  be  sure,  for  the  first  part  of  it  is  devoted  to  telling 
of  the  pestilence  in  Arcadia,  and  of  the  ambiguous  oracle. 
The  purpose  is  of  course  to  hurl  us  in  medias  res,  but  it  is  not 
realized.  Without  making  his  plan  entirely  clear,  Greene 
leaves  the  opening  situation  and  goes  to  another,  the  situation 
with  which  the  line  of  action  he  is  to  develop  really  begins. 

Menaphon,  a  shepherd,  walking  by  the  sea-shore,  saw 
pieces  of  a  wreck  floating  near,  and  on  the  shore  an  old  man, 
and  a  woman  with  a  child.     He  asked  them  who  they  were, 

^*  For  a  more  complete  account  of  Greene's  borrowings  from  Greek 
Romance  see  Wolff,  p.  446  seq.  In  the  same  work  see  also  a  comparison 
of  Pandosto  and  the  Winter's  Tale,  pp.  451-2. 

^^  "Greene's  borrowings  indicate  clearly  that  he  used  a  translation 
by  Angel  Day,  for  he  takes  from  it  several  details  not  to  be  found  in 
either  the  Greek  or  French  version."     Wolff,  Greek  Romances,  p.  447. 


40  ROBERT   GREENE 

and  offered  to  help  them.  Sephestia  called  herself  Samela  of 
C3T)rus,  wife  of  a  poor  gentleman  now  dead ;  the  old  man  was 
her  servant.  Menaphon  took  them  home,  and  immediately 
fell  in  love  with  the  beautiful  stranger.  Then  the  story  goes 
on  with  Sephestia's  life  among  the  shepherds  and  shepherd- 
esses, their  courtships  and  petty  fallings  out,  their  songs 
and  jigs. 

One  Melicertus  hears  of  Samela  and  confesses  his  love. 
Both  are  troubled;  for  to  each  the  other  resembles  the  sup- 
posedly dead  husband  or  wife.  Meantime  the  child  Pleusi- 
dippus  is  carried  away  by  pirates  to  Thessaly,  where  he  grows 
up  as  heir  to  the  throne.  Hearing  of  the  Arcadian  Samela, 
he  comes  to  present  himself  as  a  suitor.  Democles,  the  king, 
also  comes  to  woo.  Now,  Democles  is  Samela's  (Sephestia's) 
father.  And  Melicertus  is  Maximus,  her  husband,  with 
whom  she  was  forced  to  flee  from  the  court  to  escape  her 
father's  wrath,  but  from  whom  she  was  separated  by  ship- 
wreck. The  plot  is,  then,  that  of  a  husband  wooing  his  wife, 
a  son  wooing  his  mother,  a  father  wooing  his  daughter,  all  of 
them  royalty  in  disguise.  Complications  arise;  blood  is 
about  to  be  shed.  Then  an  old  woman  steps  forth  and  ex- 
plains the  fulfilment  of  the  ambiguous  prophecy. 

The  story  as  it  stands  is  considerable  of  a  mixture  from 
several  sources.  The  central  idea,  we  may  suppose,  Greene 
got  from  Warner's  tale  of  Argentile  and  Curan  in  Albion's* 
England.^''  At  least  he  probably  got  from  that  tale  the  idea  I 
of  royal  persons  meeting  in  the  disguise  of  the  shepherd  life, 
and  failing  to  recognize  each  other.  Even  in  this  point  the 
similarity  is  not  particularly  close,  except  that  in  Warner's 
tale  and  in  Menaphon,  the  lover  (Curan  in  Warner;  Melicer- 

"  1586,  Bk.  IV.,  ch.  20.  In  Chalmer's  English  Poets,  1810,  Vol.  IV., 
pp.  498-658.  See  J.  Q.  Adams,  Greene's  "Menaphon"  and  "The  Thra- 
cian  Wonder,"  Mod.  Phil.  III.,  pp.  317-8;  also  Wolff's  Greek  Romances, 
p.  442. 


OMNE    TULIT    PUNCTUM  41 

tus  in  Greene)  confesses  to  a  former  love  affair  and  describes 
his  former  mistress  (who  is  of  course  identical  with  the  new). 
^rom  Sidney's  Arcadia  Greene  imitated  various  elements, 
^particularly  the  wooing  of  Sephestia  by  both  father  and  son. 
From  the  Greek  Romances  he  incorporated  certain  structural 
/  and  verbal  parallels. ^^ 

With  all  these  borrowings,  and  with  all  the  inconsistencies 
of  plot  and  character,  the  story  of  Menaphon  is  still  Greene's. 
For  there  is  something  more  to  it  than  plot  and  character 
and  borrowings.  In  structure  it  is  far  from  being  the  best 
of  Greene's  works.  Its  companion-piece,  Pandosto,  surpasses 
it  in  this  regard.  But  I  believe  that  when  most  of  the  few 
present-day  readers  of  Greene's  romances  agree  in  pro- 
nouncing it  his  most  charming  novel  they  are  right  in  their 
judgment.  It  is  as  near  the  essence  of  the  dulci  as  Greene 
ever  got. 

Menaphon  is  not  equal  to  Lodge's  Rosalynde;  and  it  had 
not,  moreover,  the  good  fortune  to  be  turned  into  a  Shake- 
spearian play.  But  it  is,  nevertheless,  a  sweet  story.  There 
is  about  it  an  atmosphere  quite  its  own,  —  the  idyllic  pastoral 
setting,  and  the  songs,  the  country  loves,  the  dances,  the 
tending  of  flocks,  the  piping  in  the  shade  of  the  hawthorn. 
There  is  the  sunshine  of  the  anywhere-nowhere  Arcadia, 
the  idealization  of  existence,  the  freedom  of  movement  that 
comes  from  life  not  lived  within  the  bounds  of  the  troubled 
world. 

"Whiles  thus  Arcadia  rested  in  a  silent  quiet,  Menaphon 
the  Kings  Shepheard,  a  man  of  high  account  among  the 
swaines  of  Arcadia,  loued  of  the  Nymphes,  as  the  paragon  of 
all  their  countrey  youngsters,  walking  solitarie  downe  to  the 
shore,  to  see  if  anie  of  his  ewes  and  lambes  were  straggled 
downe  to  the  strond  to  brouse  on  sea  iuie,  wherfore  they  take 

^  See  Wolff,  Greek  Romances,  for  a  discussion  of  these  parallels  of 
structure  and  phrase. 


42  ROBERT   GREENE 

speciall  delight  to  feede;  he  found  his  flockes  grazing  upon 
the  Promontorie  Mountaines  hardUe:  wheron  resting  him- 
selfe  on  a  hill  that  ouer-peered  the  great  Mediterraneum, 
noting  how  Phoebus  fetched  his  Laualtos  on  the  purple  Plaines 
of  Neptunus,  as  if  he  had  meant  to  haue  courted  Thetis  in 
the  royaltie  of  his  roabes.  .  .  .  Menaphon  looking  ouer  the 
champion  of  Arcadie  to  see  if  the  Continent  were  as  full  of 
smiles,  as  the  seas  were  of  fauours,  sawe  the  shrubbes  as  in 
a  dreame  with  delightfull  harmonie,  and  the  birdes  that 
chaunted  on  their  braunches  not  disturbed  with  the  least 
breath  of  a  fauourable  Zephirus.  Seeing  thus  the  accord  of 
the  Land  and  Sea,  casting  a  fresh  gaze  on  the  water  Nimphs, 
he  began  to  consider  how  Venus  was  feigned  by  the  poets  to 
spring  of  the  froathe  of  the  Seas;  which  draue  him  straight 
into  a  deepe  coniecture  of  the  inconstancie  of  Loue : 

Some  say  Loue 
Foolish  Loue 

Doth  rule  and  gouerne  all  the  Gods, 
I  say  Loue, 
Inconstant  Loue, 

Sets  mens  senses  farre  at  ods." 

There  are  cares  in  this  land  of  Arcadia,  hearts  sore  with 
unrequited  love.  And  there  are  wars  and  rumors  of  wars, 
languishing  in  prisons,  shipwreck,  separation  of  kindred. 
But  all  these  will  pass  away,  we  know;  the  lost  will  be  found, 
hard  hearts  will  melt,  and  happiness  will  come  to  her  own. 
The  story  is  romantic  and  unreal ;  it  could  never  have  hap- 
pened. But  that  doesn't  make  any  difference.  There  is  a 
charm  to  it  for  one  who  can  disentangle  himself  for  a  moment 
from  the  crowding  business  of  the  day  to  go  back  to  the  golden 
times,  —  even  don  a  Watteau  coat  and  hat  to  sport  with  jolly 
shepherds,  make  love  to  the  beautiful  shepherdesses,  and, 
more  than  all,  enjoy 

"The  sweet  content  that  country  life  affords." 


OMNE    TULIT    PUNCTUM  43 

Philomela  need  not  be  summarized  in  full.  The  romance 
is  the  story  of  a  jealous  husband  who  falsely  accuses  his  wife 
of  inconstancy,  and  has  her  banished.  She  goes  to  a  distant 
land  and  lives  humbly.  Then  the  slaves  who  have  borne 
false  witness  confess  their  wrong-doing.  The  jealous  hus- 
band is  himself  banished.  He  sets  out  to  find  his  wife,  and 
comes  at  length  to  the  place  in  which  she  lives.  Tired  of 
his  vain  search,  he  assumes  the  responsibility  for  the  murder 
of  the  Duke's  son,  who  is  thought  to  have  been  killed.  The 
wife  hears  of  the  self-accusation,  and  to  save  her  husband 
declares  herself  to  be  the  murderer.  Then  the  Duke's  son 
appears  and  the  man  and  his  wife  are  happy  in  their  reunion 
—  so  happy  that  the  man  dies  of  joy.^^ 

There  is  one  romance  left,  Ciceronis  Amor,  or  Tullies  Love. 
Next  to  Pandosto,  this  was  Greene's  most  popular  novel. 
It  is  a  story  of  love,  with  pastoral  elements  intermingled 
(rather,  we  should  say,  dragged  in).  Greene  speaks  of  it 
as  his  attempt  ''to  counterfeit  Tullies  phrase,"  and  as  his 
"indeauor  to  pen  doune  the  loves  of  Cicero,  which  Plutarch, 
and  Cornelius  Nepos,  forgot  in  their  writings." 

In  all  these  romances,  it  is  ever  necessary  to  bear  in 
mind  Greene's  attitude  toward  Fortune.  His  inability  to 
ground  a  plot  in  motives  which  have  their  sources  within 
the  springs  of  personality  made  him  perceive  the  value, 
and  the  necessity,  of  Fortune  as  a  narrative  element. 
Greene's  attitude  never  developed  into  a  cult.  Fortune, 
mysterious  and  incalculable,  was  to  some  people  rather  more 
real  then  than  now.  She  was  a  personality  whose  whims 
determined  much  of  the  lot  of  man.  She  was  one  of  the  forces 
of  the  universe,  sharing  with  man  himself  the  responsibility 
for  the  management  of  the  world.  Such  a  view,  I  say,  Greene 
did  not  acquire.     He  had  not  enough  imagination  to  acquire 

^^  Greene's  novel  furnished  one  of  the  plots  in  Davenport's  City 
Nightcap.     1624. 


44  ROBERT   GREENE 

it.  A  conception  like  that  would  have  necessitated  the  ability 
to  grasp  character  which  was  the  very  thing  that  Greene 
lacked.  But  although  he  did  not  rise  high  in  his  conception 
of  Fortune,  he  was  able  to  get  from  her  that  which  he  needed 
for  the  success  of  his  narrative.  What  he  wanted  was  some- 
thing which  would  help  him  get  his  characters  about,  move 
them  from  one  situation  into  another,  without  having  to 
justify  those  activities.  Fortune  could  do  that.  One  turn 
of  her  wheel  would  be  enough  to  change  the  face  of  things 
completely.  We  should  have  a  new  and  interesting  com- 
plication, and  no  explanation  would  be  necessary  as  to  how 
it  came  about.  Fortune  became,  therefore,  a  word  ever  on 
Greene's  lips.  It  represented  an  idea  to  be  played  with, 
talked  about,  bandied  here  and  there,  given  all  manner  of 
attributes;  most  important  of  all.  Fortune  became  an 
actual  motive  power  in  a  line  of  action.^°  But  wherever 
used,  she  was  primarily  a  narrative  element,  a  servant  to 
Greene's  story-telling  instinct. 

/    In  this  capacity  Fortune  is  the  source  at  once  of  Greene's 
/strength  and  of  his  weakness:  of  s^ngth,  in  that  his  use  of 


Fortune  enables  him  to  pre^nt  interesting  and  (forgetting 
for  the  moment  the  long  speeches  —  which  are  for  the  most 
part  the  fault  of  the  age,  not  of  Greene)  rapid  narrative; 
of  weakness,  in  that  Fortune  relieved  him  ofwhaCwouTd^y , 
nature  have  been  to  him  a  difficult  task,  the  creation,  of  J 
genuine  characters.  "^"^^  ' 

Recognizing  the  place  which  Fortune  holds,  we  can  under- 
stand the  work  that  Greene  has  constructed  on  that  basis. 
His  incompetence  to  seize  hold  upon  the  fundamental 
nature  of  a  character  and  to  define  the  principles  upon  which 

*°  Dr.  Wolff  {Greek  Romances,  p.  392)  summarizes  Greene's  concep- 
tion of  Fortune  as  having  three  phases:  that  in  which  she  is  purely 
an  abstraction,  that  in  which  she  is  a  quasi-personality,  that  in  which  she 
Is  a  mistress  of  plot. 


OMNE    TULIT    PUNCTUM  45 

that  character  acts,  his  leaving  the  conduct  of  affairs  pretty 
much  in  Fortune's  hands  results,  as  we  should  well  expect, 
in  many  inconsistencies  of  plot  and  character.  Consistency 
is  no  virtue  if  there  is  no  relation  between  what  a  man  is 
and  what  a  man  does.  We  are  not  aware  of  defects  unless 
we  have  an  ideal  of  perfection.  So  far  as  consistency  was 
concerned,  Greene  had  no  such  ideal. 

The  result  of  this  disregard  for  making  a  story  plausible 
is  easily  made  apparent.  The  situation  in  Menaphon,  for 
example,  of  father,  husband,  and  son,  all  in  love  with  Samela 
is  in  itself  ridiculous.  The  total  ignoring  of  the  elapsed 
twenty  years  is  unpardonable  if  we  stop  to  think  of  it. 
When  we  stop  to  think  of  it,  too,  Arbasto  is  nothing  but  the 
tale  of  a  whining  old  man.  And  we  become  almost  impatient 
with  Greene  that  he  should  permit  the  quondam  king  the 
outrageous  privilege  of  heaping  the  blame  for  his  misfortune 
anywhere  but  on  his  own  wilful  head.  The  point  about  the 
whole  matter,  however,  is  that  we  do  not  stop  to  think. 
Realizing  that  Pandosto  or  Menaphon  or  whatever  romance 
it  is  we  take  up,  is  so  largely  the  result  merely  of  what 
"happened,"  we  move  along  with  the  action,  never  pausing 
to  analyze  or  to  question.  Inconsistencies  do  not  seem  to 
have  bothered  Greene;  and  so  long  as  he  makes  no  attempt 
to  smooth  them  over  we  are  hardly  aware  that  they  exist. 

Now  that  the  account  of  the  various  kinds  of  Greene's 
fiction  is  completed,  it  remains  to  speak  of  some  general  topics 
which  pertain  to  his  fiction  as  a  whole.  In  this  connection 
there  are  qualities  of  style  which  we  may  take  up  first. 

When  we  speak  of  Greene's  style,  both  as  to  its  own 
characteristics  and  as  to  the  influences  which  produced  it, 
we  naturally  think  first  of  John  Lyly  and  his  Euphues. 
Rightly  so,  for  Lyly's  novel  was  predominant  when  Greene's 
first  one  was  published,  and  continued  to  be  so  for  a  number 
of  years.     As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  Lyly's  manner  of 


46  ROBERT   GREENE 

writing  was  not  originated  by  him,  nor  was  it  peculiar  to 
him.  Various  scholars,  notably  Mr.  Bond,  have  set  forth 
Lyly's  relations  with  his  predecessors,  and  have  shown  that 
there  were  at  hand  practically  all  the  elements  which  Lyly 
employed.  Greene,  therefore,  in  following  Lyly  was  inl 
reality  carrying  on  the  tradition  of  the  English  novel  as» 
established  by  Gascoigne  and  as  used  by  Pettie,  Whetstone, 
Riche,  and  the  rest  of  the  earlier  writers  of  fiction. 

Greene  was  not  far  from  the  beginning  of  this  line  of 
development.  But  even  by  this  time,  although  fiction  was 
still  tentative  in  its  forms  (it  is  always  tentative,  so  far  as 
that  is  concerned),  it  had  taken  on  certain  fixed  modes  of 
expression.  The  conventionality  of  Elizabethan  poetry^ 
both  in  form  and  in  content  has  long  been  recognized. 
Elizabethan  fiction  underwent  the  same  sort  of  process,  so 
that  not  only  form,  but  thought  as  well,  and  the  manner  of 
expressing  it,  became  to  a  large  degree  stereotyped  and 
impersonal.  So  advanced  a  state  of  conventionality  was 
fortunate  from  Greene's  point  of  view.  It  made  unnecessary 
any  large  amount  of  originality  with  regard  to  the  treatment 
of  any  particular  situation.  The  method  of  handling  a 
courtship,  for  example,  was  to  be  found  ready  at  hand. 
But  the  result  of  the  taking  over  by  Greene  of  these 
elements  of  novel  construction  was,  from  the  manner 
in  which  he  used  these  elements,  that  of  carrying  the 
process  still  further.  That  is,  Greene  seldom  rises  above )^ 
the  convention  itself  to  make  of  it  a  genuine  means  of 
character  protrayal  or  an  integral  part  in  the  motivation  of 
a  plot.  We  have,  therefore,  in  his  novels  an  almost  endless 
succession  of  similar  situations  treated  in  a  sin;iilar  fashion, 
a  great  many  of  which  might  be  transferred  from  one  novel 
to  another,  with  no  harm  done,  —  or  benefit  either. 

It  was  to  Greene's  detriment  that  he  did  to  so  great  an 
extent  become  a  follower  of  convention.     He  was  impeded 


OMNE    TULIT    PUNCTUM  47 

rather  than  helped  by  his  conformity  to  fashion.     The  quality 
of  his  work,  which,  we  have  before  had  occasion  to  state,  is 
his   characteristic   and    most    complete  attainment,  is   the 
straightforwardness  and  swiftness  of  his  narrative.     If  he 
had  left  himself  free  to  the  guidance  of  his  own  natural 
talent,  his  results  would  have  in  them  more  of  permanent 
value.     Had  he  broken  away  from  tradition  more  fully  and 
worked  in  the  vein  represented  by  the  tale  of  Tompkins  the 
Wheelwright  or  by  some  of  his  short  stories  in  the  conny- 
catching   pamphlets,^^    he    would,    however   much    he   was>       # 
catering  to  the  taste  of  his  time  in  conforming  to  fashion,^  J^*^ 
have  done  a  more  effectual  service  in  the  development  of 
simple  narrative  style. 

It  is  apparent  that  Greene  did  not  himself  understand 
wherein  his  ability  lay.  He  has  cluttered  his  stories  up  with 
all  sorts  of  decorative  tinsel:  letters,  "passions,"  speeches 
for  every  kind  of  situation,  formal  discourses,  misogynist 
tirades,  declarations  of  love  and  their  answers,  digressions 
and  asides  to  the  reader,  proverbial  philosophy,  quotations 
from  all  the  tongues,  stock  illustrations,  classical  and  natural 
history  allusions,  —  commonplaces  in  Elizabethan  fiction  too 
familiar  to  need  illustration.  Indeed  it  requires  on  the  part 
of  the  modern  reader  as  full  a  recognition  as  he  is  able  to 
give  of  the  fact  that  after  all  Greene  is  not  wholly  responsible 
for  the  presence  of  these  features  in  his  work  to  prevent  a 
failure  to  perceive  its  real  merit,  and  a  condemnation  of  it 
wholesale  to  the  literary  bone-yard.  But  the  worst  is, 
granting  that  such  things  were  fashionable  and  so  to  be 
indulged  in,  that  Greene  seems  to  have  delighted  in  this 
elegance  of  phrase  and  encumbering  ornament. 

Greene  seems  not  to  have  understood  that  he  was  thus 
ever  striving,  as  it  were,  to  get  away  from  what  his  nature 
would  have  him  do.     At  the  same  time  he  did  make  progress 
«  See  Chapter  IV. 


48  ROBERT    GREENE 

in  his  style.  Pandosto  is  more  direct  than  the  Carde  of  Fancie. 
Throughout  Greene's  career  there  is  perceptible  a  slow  but 
steady  turning  away  from  the  ornate  and  artificial  to  the 
more  natural  kind  of  fiction.  This  turning  is  due  partly, 
of  course,  to  the  turning  of  the  age  in  that  direction.  But 
it  is  also  due  to  Greene's  own  development,  a  development 
of  which  he  was  to  some  extent  conscious.  In  Menaphon 
there  is  a  passage  ^^  which  shows  that  "hterary  style"  was 
to  Greene  something  which  could  be  put  on  and  taken  off 
at  will.  This  consciousness  is  further  evidenced  by  the 
admirable  simplicity  of  the  social  pamphlets,  and  by 
the  abrupt  change  in  the  tone  of  the  last  few  pages  of 
the  Groatsworih  of  Wit. 

Greene  possessed,  when  he  forgot  himself  and  was  really 
concerned  with  what  he  said  rather  than  with  how  he  said 
it,  a  straightforwardness  wholly  unexpected  in  a  writer 
living  before  Bacon.  This  directness  is  especially  notice- 
able, as  I  said,  in  the  social  pamphlets.  But  it  is  discernible 
in  the  fiction,  too.  Illustrations  can  be  found  near  the  end 
of  many  of  the  novels.  Like  most  of  his  predecessors,  Greene 
was  more  interested  in  getting  a  story  under  way  than  he 
was  in  its  conclusion.  Perhaps  it  would  be  more  nearly 
correct  to  say  that  he  expended  more  energy  of  elaboration 
upon  the  first  half  than  upon  the  latter.  The  result  of  such 
a  process  is  that  the  opening  of  a  story  is  often  stilted  in 
its  method.  Too  much  emphasis  is  placed  upon  speech, 
talking  back  and  forth  and  writing  letters;    the  movement 

^^  "Samela  made  this  replie,  because  she  heard  him  so  superfine 
as  if  Ephoebus  had  learned  him  to  refine  his  mother  tongue,  wherefore 
thought  he  had  done  it  of  an  inkhorne  desire  to  be  eloquent;  and 
Melicertus  thinking  that  Samela  had  learned  with  Lucilla  in  Athens 
to  anatomize  wit,  and  speake  none  but  Similes,  imagined  she  smoothed 
her  talke  to  be  thought  like  Sapho,  Phaos  Paramour. 

Thus  deceived  either  in  others  suppositions,  Samela  followed  her 
sute  thus."     Vol.  IV.,  p.  82. 


OMNE    TULIT    PUNCTUM  49 

is  slow  and  tedious,  exasperating  at  times.  Then  suddenly, 
as  if  all  at  once  realizing  that  he  has  enough  written  to  make 
a  salable  pamphlet,  Greene  takes  himself  in  hand,  dis- 
penses with  his  artificiality,  winds  up  his  action,  dismisses 
his  characters  and  lo!  the  story  is  done.  There  is  a  certain 
precipitousness  about  such  a  performance,  one  must  admit. 
You  don't  always  keep  up  with  it,  and  you  don't  always 
understand  just  what  has  happened.  Perhaps  the  haste  is 
just  as  bad  technique  as  the  slowness.  My  point  here  is 
that  Greene  c^  be  direct;  that  he  has,  underneath  the  as- 
sumed literary  form  of  expression,  another  more  simple  form. 

Throughout  the  whole  of  my  discussion  of  Greene's  novels 
I  have  repeatedly  dwelt  upon  what  seems  to  me  to  be  Greene's 
real  ability,  that  of  narration  with  an  aim  at  artistic  narrative 
effect.  I  have,  too,  told  what  seems  to  me  to  be  his  defects 
in  characterization,  his  inability  to  infuse  life  into  his  men 
and  women.  In  view  of  what  has  been  observed  above  in 
regard  to  Greene's  over-emphasis  upon  the  first  half  of  a 
story,  this  element  of  characterization  deserves  just  a  word 
more. 

Greene  constantly  threw  stones  in  the  way  of  his  own 
narrations.  There  is  no  doubt  that  he  did  so  deliberately,  — 
subservient  to  custom,  and  pleased  with  his  results.  I 
think  there  is  another  reason,  though,  which  helps  to 
account  for  these  obstructions.  Inheritances  they  wfife,  — 
"passions,"  speeches,  letters,  and  so  on, — coming  from 
various  literary  sources.  There  was  no  other  phase  of 
Elizabethan  fiction  which  became  more  stereotyped  in  its 
form  of  expression.  But  these  elements,  found  most  excess- 
ively in  the  first  part  of  the  story,  are  indicative  of  some- 
thing else  than  just  convention.  They  manifest  an  interest 
in  characterization. 

The  "passions,"  for  example,  which  are  scattered  broad- 
cast throughout  Elizabethan  novels  are  attempts  at  char- 


50  ROBERT   GREENE 

acter  analysis.     They  aim  to  set  forth  the  mental  states^ 
in  which  people  find  themselves  under  definite  conditions.  •¥ 
The  psychology  upon  which  they  are  based   is  generall}^  ( 
unsound   and   artificial.     The   emotions   that   these  people  j 
undergo,  the  thoughts  that  they  utter,  are  not  true  to  life.  J 
But  the  faults  do  not  alter  the  necessity  of  our  under- 
standing   the    aim    of    this    psychologizing.     With    all    it^i 
imperfection    it    shows    an    inclination    toward    character! 
study.     There  was,  clearly,  on  the  part  of  the  Elizabethan' 
novelists  a  growing  interest  not  only  in  the  art  of  telling  a 
story  effective  for  the  events  in  it,  but  also  in  making  the 
people  whom   those   events   concern    appear  as^  genumely 
human  as  possible.     Greene  was  a  participant  in  this  move- 
'1ment:~''Towarcr~fuller    characterization.     The    fact  that    he 
did  not  succeed  must  not  lessen  our  recognition  of  the  fact 
that  he  tried. 

Looked  at  from  this  point  of  view,_there  is  perhaps  a  li_ttle 
more  sympathy  to  be  felt  with  the  feeble  efforts  which 
Greene  and  the  rest  of  them  made.     These  men  were  con- 
forming to  fashion,  they  were  over-elaborate  and  affected; 
but  they  were  at  the  same  time  using  the  only  methods 
they   knew   of   presenting   character.     They   had   not   yet  ^ 
learned  the  art  of  letting  characters  reveal  their  own  person-   / 
alities  in  natural  conversation,  nor  had  they  learned  that  / 
we  may  come  to  know  people  not  only  by  what  they  do  ? 
and  say  but  also  by  their  reactions  toward  other  people,  and/ 
by  the  reactions  of  other  people  toward  them. 

With  the  various  people  whom  Greene  endeavored  to 
present  we  need  not  deal  at  length.  It  may  be  well  to  take 
up  two  of  them  in  order  to  bring  out  the  two  prominent 
facts  about  Greene's  characterization. 

Of  all  of  Greene's  characters  Sephestia  is  torobably  the 
best  known.  She  is  the  victim  of  disfressing  and  cruel 
circumstances,   but   she  embodies   all   the   qualities   of  an 


OMNE    TULIT    PUNCTUM  51 

ideal  heroine.  She  is  beautiful,  kind,  faithful,  resourceful, 
patient,  charming.  When  she  sings  her  lullaby  to  her 
sleeping  babe,  when  she  mourns  her  fate,  when  she  moves 
among  the  scenes  of  pastoral  life,  or  when  in  prison  she 
spurns  the  love  of  a  king,  —  always  she  has  our  interest 
and  our  sympathy.  Our  feeling  for  her  is  not,  however, 
that  which  comes  from  depth  or  clearness  in  her  por- 
trayal. It  is^deriyed_rather  from  a_certain_refinenignt  of 
atmosphere  which  surrounds  her,  from  the  delicacy  of  the 
lines  with  which  she  is  depicted.  I  introduce  Sephestia 
here  because  this  refinement  and  delicacy  which  I  mention 
in  connection  with  her  compose  one  of  Greene's  salient 
characteristics,  one  of  the  things  we  often  think  of  in 
relation  to  him.  Indeed,  the  significant  fact  about  Greene's 
womeil  lies  not'  so  much  in  an  added  depth  of  portraiture 
over  what  his  predecessors  had  accomplished,  «is_in_giyiiig 
to  them  a  newjnterest  by  a  process  of  idealization.  Greene's 
women  are  not,  that  is,  so  much  more  genuinely  human, 
nor  do  they  necessarily  act  from  so  much  more  definitely 
conceived  motives  than  those  of  his  predecessors.  But 
they  do  possess  the  charm  which  arises  from  a  delicacy  of 
presentation  and  from  a  refinement  of  attitude  toward 
them  as  heroines. 

The  other  character  I  wish  to  speak  of  is  Arbasto,  who 
illustrates  in  an  extraordinary  degree  another  phase  of 
Greene's  characters.  Arbasto  is  an  old  man  who  lives  in 
a  cell  and  mourns.  The  experience  of  life  has  been  un- 
happy for  him,  for  he  has  been  banished  from  his  kingdom. 
Fortune  is  to  blame.  The  association  of  Fortune  with  the 
affairs  of  men  which  Arbasto  makes,  and  which  Greene  lets 
pass  unchallenged,  leads  to  an  understanding  of  what  the 
trouble  is.  Greene  got  many  ideas  from  the  Italian  Renais- 
sance, plots  and  motives,  and  types  of  characters.  But 
there  was  one   conception   which   he  did  not  get  hold  of 


52  POBERT   GREENE 

in  a  way  to  make  it  effective.  That  was  the  conception 
of  the  force  of  personality.  I  spoke  of  this  failure  in 
connection  with  the  discussion  of  Valdracko,  but  it  is 
apparent  in  all  of  Greene's  works.  Greene's  interest  in 
characterization  was  not  enough  to  counterbalance  the 
lack  of  a  sweeping  imagination  such  as  Marlowe  had, 
and  such  as  is  necessary  to  transform  puppets  into  living 
heroes.  And  so,  whether  the  ruling  passion  be  revenge, 
jealousy,  ambition,  what  not,  there  is  always  a  littleness 
about  Greene's  portrayal,  a  dissatisfaction  with  the  result 
obtained.  No  one  of  these  characters  has  strength  to 
dominate  the  situation  in  which  he  is  placed.  Fortune, 
not  personality,  is  the  moving  power. 

One  is  inclined  to  come  away  from  a  close  study  of 
Greene's  novels  with  too  grave  an  impression  of  him.  We 
may  inquire  what  he  was  like  as  an  author,  what  his  methods 
were,  what  influences  affected  him.  But  we  must  remember 
that  Greene  wrote  rapidly,  that  he  was  primarily  a  jour- 
nalist. He  copied,  adapted,  created.  He  may  have  been 
conscious  in  his  art.  There  is  no  way  of  knowing,  for 
consciousness  of  effort  and  utilitarianism  of  purpose  are 
not  mutually  exclusive  ideals.  We  must  be  careful, 
however,  not  to  regard  as  necessarily  deliberate  art  what 
may  be  only  shrewdness.  I  am  convinced  that  there  is 
no  more  fundamental  element  in  a  true  conception  of 
Greene  than  a  realization  of  the  fact  that  he  is  best  appre- 
ciated when  studied  with  an  attitude  that  does  not  take 
him  too  seriously.  We  must  not,  in  other  words,  over- 
look the  journalist  in  our  study  of  the  artist. 


CHAPTER  III 

SERO  SED  SERIO 

For  Greene,  the  useful  continued  to  mingle  with  the 
sweet  up  until  1590.  England's  conflict  with  "Anti-Christ" 
and  her  triumph  over  the  Spanish  Armada  had,  to  be  sure, 
swerved  him  aside  to  discover  his  conscience  in  religion,  as 
he  put  it,  in  the  Spanish  Masquerado  (lie.  Feb.  1,  1589),  a 
thoroughly  dull  "devise"  wherein  "is  discovered  effectuallie, 
in  certaine  breefe  Sentences  and  Mottos,  the  pride  and 
insolencie  of  the  Spanish  estate  .  .  .  whereunto  by  the. 
Author,  for  the  better  understanding  of  his  device,  is 
added  a  breefe  glosse,"  the  which  written,  we  are  informed, 
"least  I  might  be  thought  to  tie  myself e  wholly  to  amorous 
conceites."^  The  work  is  as  uninspired  as  can  be, — 
Greene  had  probably  picked  up  an  anti-Catholic  tract 
somewhere  and  had  translated  it  (as  he  did  the  Royal 
Exchange  the  next  year)  when  the  occasion  was  so  ripe  that 
any  pamphlet  with  "Spanish"  on  its  title-page  would  find 
a  ready  market.  There  is  nothing  of  real  religion  about  it. 
The  work  had  not  been  prompted  by  any  such  motive  as 
repentance  for  the  triviality  of  earlier  writings;  so  Greene 
went  on  with  Menaphon  and  Ciceronis  Amor  in  the  way  he 
had  been  going.  But  Orpharion,  licensed  January  9,  1590, 
marks  the  end  of  this  division  of  Greene's  work.^  Hence- 
forth —  for  a  year  —  his  attitude  is  represented  by  the 
Sero  sed  serio  of  this  chapter. 

1  Vol.  v.,  p.  242. 

*  Philomela  and  Farewell  to  Follie  were  published  after  this  date; 
but  see  Chap.  VI. 

53 


54  ROBERT   GREENE 

Greene  has  told  us  how  the  new  motto  came  to  be 
adopted.'  "After  I  was  burdened  with  the  penning  of  the 
Cobler  of  Canterhiry,  I  waxed  passing  melancholy,  as  grieving 
that  either  I  should  be  wrong  with  envy,  or  wronged  with 
suspition  ...  so  in  a  discontented  humour  I  sat  me 
down  upon  my  bed-side,  and  began  to  cal  to  remembrance 
what  fond  and  wanton  lines  had  past  my  pen,  and  how  I  had 
bent  my  course  to  a  wrong  shore."  These  thoughts  troubled 
him  greatly  and  he  prayed  to  God  to  be  shadowed  with  the 
wings  of  His  grace,  to  be  kept  an  undefiled  member  of  His 
church,  and  to  show  himself  regenerate  and  a  reformed  man 
from  all  his  former  follies.  Being  in  this  meditation,  he 
fell  asleep. 

Then  a  vision  came  to  him  which  he  describes.  Chaucer 
and  Gower  held  conversation  with  each  other  and  with  him, 
the  former  encouraging  him  in  his  literary  art  and  the 
latter  condemning  him.  He  inclined  to  Gower 's  ideas  and 
promised  to  write  no  more  wanton  pamphlets.  Then 
Solomon  appeared  and  discoursed  of  Wisdom  and  Religion. 
"Be  a  Devine,  my  Sonne,"  he  said.  Greene  awoke  and  "  a 
sodaine  feare  tainted  every  limme  and  I  felt  a  horror  in 
my  conscience,  for  the  follyes  of  my  Penne:  whereupon, 
...  I  resolved  peremptorilie  to  leave  all  thoughts  of 
love,  .  .  .  howsoever  the  direction  of  my  studies  shall 
be  limited  me,  as  you  had  the  blossomes  of  my  wanton 
fancies,  so  shall  you  have  the  fruits  of  my  better  labours." 

Thus  did  Greene  set  the  machinery  going  which  was  to 
carry  out  his  next  venture,  the  series  of  novels  on  the  story 
of  the  prodigal  son. 

That  which  was  destined  to  become  the  most  influential 
factor  in  spreading  the  theme  and  form  of  the  prodigal  story 
was  the  Acolastus  of  Gnaepheus,  a  Latin  play  which  was 
published  at  Antwerp  in  1529.     The  reason  for  the  popu- 

3  Vol.  XII. 


SERO    SED    SERIO  55 

larity  of  this  work  was  that  of  its  double  appeal.  In  the 
first  place,  it  suited  the  reaction  of  the  Reformation  period 
against  the  non-Christian  literature  of  the  classical  writers; 
and  in  the  second  place;  it  took  easily  the  form  of  the 
Terentian  Comedy.  This  double  capacity  for  supplying  the 
need  for  Christian  teaching  and  for  being  substituted  as  a 
textbook  in  the  schools  was  the  source  of  its  power.  The 
Acolastus  was  widely  read  and  widely  translated.'*  It  sup- 
planted classical  comedies  as  a  text  in  the  schools,  and  equally 
important  it  gave  rise  to  another  type  of  drama  represented 
by  the  Studentes  of  StymmeliusJ'  But  it  was  not  upon  the 
drama  alone  that  the  prodigal  story  exerted  its  influence. 
It  came  to  have  considerable  importance  in  Elizabethan 
fiction. 

Mr.  John  Dover  Wilson,^  whose  article  first  directed  my 
attention  to  the  occurrence  of  the  prodigal-son  story  in 
Greene's  writing,  has  studied  Eiiphues  in  the  light  of  the 
Acolastus  and  the  Studentes,''  and  on  the  basis  of  that 
study  has  reached  the  conclusion  that  in  reality  Lyly's 
novel  is  an  example  of  the  prodigal-son  story.  It  was 
he  who  suggested  that  the  so-called  repentant  pamphlets 
of  Greene  also  belonged  to  this  class.  This  latter  sugges- 
tion I  have  followed  out.  In  the  following  pages  I  shall 
endeavor  to  set  forth  the  extent  of  Greene's  use  of  the 
theme.     Before  I  discuss  the  influence  of  the  prodigal-son 

*  See  The  School  Drama,  including  Palgrave's  Introduction  to 
Acolastus,  in  Teachers  College  Publications,  Columbia  University. 
By  James  L.  McConaughy.  See  also  Herford,  The  Literary  Relations  of 
England  and  Germany  in  the  Sixteenth  Century,  Chap.  III. 

^  Of  this  student  drama,  the  Glasse  of  Government  of  Gascoigne  is 
the  notable  example  in  England. 

^  Ewphues  and  the  Prodigal  Son.     The  Library,  October,  1909,  p.  337. 

'  Of  course  Acolastus  is  only  one  of  the  numerous  prodigal-son  plays. 
Cf.  also  Asotv^  and  various  English  imitations  and  adaptations.  A 
discussion  of  these  may  be  found  in  Herford's  Literary  Relations. 


56  ROBERT   GREENE 

story  at  length,  however,  it  may  be  well  to  examine  the 
Acolastus  itself. 

The  play  has  five  acts,  but  the  story  really  falls  into  four 
parts.  At  the  opening  of  the  play  Pelargus,  the  king,  is  much 
troubled  by  the  determination  of  Acolastus,  his  son,  to  set 
out  to  see  the  world.  Eubulus,  symbolizing  foresight, 
advises  him  to  allow  the  young  man  to  go.  Finally  matters 
are  arranged.  Acolastus  is  given  his  share  of  the  inherit- 
ance, an  abundance  of  good  advice,  and  a  Bible.  The 
Bible  is  soon  discarded  at  the  suggestion  of  Philautus,  the 
friend  of  Acolastus  who  aroused,  in  the  first  place,  his  desire 
to  travel  and  his  haughtiness  toward  his  elders.  The  father's 
advice  is  not  followed.  And  as  for  the  "decem  talenta," — 
dissipavit  suhstantiam  suani  vivendo  luxuriose.  Acolastus 
travels  into  a  far  country,  familiar  to  us  and  to  the  sixteenth 
century  as  the  land  of  classical  comedy.  There  are  para- 
sites in  the  land,  waiting  for  such  as  he.  When  Acolastus 
comes  through  the  market  place,  they  insinuate  themselves 
into  his  acquaintance  and  lead  him  off.  He  is  in  a  courtezan's 
house.  Lais,  the  beautiful  courtezan,  ensnares  him.  He 
orders  a  great  feast,  and  there  is  merry-making,  and  wine. 
The  next  day  Acolastus  is  cozened  of  what  money  he  has  left, 
and  turned  naked  and  penniless  out  of  doors.  Lais,  with 
whom  he  had  so  fallen  in  love,  is  the  first  to  rob  him  of  his 
clothes.  A  famine  comes  upon  the  land.  Acolastus  is  in 
great  distress.  He  enters  the  service  of  a  farmer,  who  sets 
him  to  feeding  pigs.  After  a  time,  he  recalls  all  his  father's 
precepts,  and  goes  home.  There  he  is  received  with  great 
rejoicing.  Of  the  five  acts  two  and  a  half  are  devoted  to  the 
second  of  these  four  parts,  —  to  the  events  that  transpire 
in  the  prodigal's  scenes  of  riotous  living. 

With  such  a  summary  in  mind  let  us  turn  to  Greene's 
prodigal-son  stories.  By  far  the  most  distinctive  one  from 
the  point  of  view  of  reflecting  this  influence  is  the  Mourning 


SERO    SED    SERIO  57 

Garment.  In  this  novel  a  rich  old  man,  Rabbi  Bilessi,  of 
Callipolis,  had  two  sons.^  The  elder  was  Sophonos,  hand- 
some and  wise,  yet  something  of  a  coward.  He  became  a 
merchant  with  his  father.  (One  wonders  what  business  a 
rabbi  was  in!)  The  younger  was  Philador,  also  handsome 
and  of  good  wit.  He  loved  company ;  and  he  felt  his  father's 
curb  upon  his  liberty.  Philador  desired  to  travel,  and 
asked  his  father's  consent  (long  speech  on  the  advantages 
of  travel).  The  father  (long  speech)  tried  to  dissuade  him, 
but  the  youth  persisted  in  his  request.  At  last  the  old  man 
gave  his  consent  and  the  son's  portion  of  the  inheritance. 
After  the  father's  farewell  (long  speech),  Philador  set  out. 
This  so  far  corresponds  to  the  first  part  of  the  play,  occupying, 
in  the  novel,  thirteen  pages.^ 

Philador  visited  many  lands,  always  bearing  in  mind 
his  father's  precepts;  and  came  at  last  to  Thessaly.  He 
could  see  no  town,  but  a  shepherd  offered  to  direct  him. 
(Greene  digresses  to  paint  a  metrical  portrait  of  the  shep- 
herd and  his  wife.)  The  shepherd  led  him  through  a  vale. 
(Greene's  pastoralism  leads  him  astray  to  have  the  shep- 
herd tell  a  tale  of  a  shepherd's  faithless  loving.  Possibly  a 
part  of  the  prodigal  theme,  conveyed  indirectly  as  a  lesson.) 
They  arrived  at  Saragunta,  a  beautiful  city.  The  shepherd 
warned  him  to  beware  of  the  Unicorn,  at  which  the  three 
beautiful  courtezans  lived. ^^  Philador  disregarded  the  advice 
and  went  to  the  Unicorn,  where  he  was  courteously  enter- 
tained, and  where  he  fell  in  love  with  the  youngest  of  the 
three  sisters.  Philador  ordered  a  supper.  There  was  much 
talk  on  the  subject  of  love.     (Corresponding  to  the  Lais 

*  Gnaepheus  leaves  out  the  elder  son. 

'  There  will  be  noticed  the  absence  of  the  characters  to  correspond 
to  those  of  Eiibulus  and  Philautus  in  the  play. 

'"  Compare  with  the  old  man's  advice  to  Euphues  upon  his  arrival 
in  Naples.     Philador,  like  Euphues,  does  not  follow  the  advice. 


58  ROBERT    GREENE 

scene  of  the  banquet  in  Acolastus.)  The  courtezans  began 
to  get  hold  of  Philador's  money.  He  dismissed  all  of  his 
servants  but  one.  One  of  those  dismissed  tried  to  give 
Philador  some  advice,  but  in  vain.  Philador  li-C^ed  on  in 
his  sin.  This  is  the  second  part  of  the  story,  occupying 
about  forty  pages  (of  which  fifteen  are  devoted  to  the 
shepherd's  tale). 

After  a  while,  there  came  a  famine.  Many  people  died, 
but  Philador  gave  no  aid.  At  last  his  money  gave  out,  and 
he  was  obliged  to  sell  his  clothes  to  pay  his  debts.  The  three 
sisters  seized  his  trunk  and  took  the  doublet  from  his  back. 
(Corresponds  to  Lais'  taking  the  clothes  of  Acolastus.)  He 
reviled  them  and  asked  the  youngest  to  aid  him.  She  scorned 
him,  and  had  the  servants  put  him  of  the  house  and  beat  him. 
Philador  then  left  the  city.  He  wandered  long,  —  tired, 
hungry,  and  thirst3^  Finally  he  went  to  sleep.  When  he 
awoke  he  began  to  think  of  his  father's  precepts.  (Long  so- 
liloquy.) A  farmer  came  along.  He  gave  Philador  the  task 
of  feeding  his  hogs.  Philador  ate  husks  with  the  swine,  in 
true  prodigal  fashion.  Finally  he  decided  to  go  home  to  his 
father.  Here  ends  the  third  part  of  the  story,  —  eighteen 
pages. 

One  day  on  the  way  home  he  saw  a  despairing  lover  about 
to  kill  himself.  Philador  persuaded  him  from  his  rashness; 
and  left  him  a  scroll  containing  some  aphorisms  and  an  Ode. 
Philador  went  on.  At  last,  with  remorse  in  his  heart,  he 
came  in  sight  of  his  father's  house.  He  saw  his  father  and 
went  to  him.  The  old  man  wept.  Philador  confessed  his 
folly,  and  asked  to  be  made  a  hired  servant.  His  father  an- 
swered, and  forgave  him,  and  gave  him  a  new  robe  (of  black). 
Sophonos  would  not  come  in  to  the  banquet  which  was  pre- 
pared. The  father  urged.  Sophonos  upbraided  his  father, 
but  finally  went  in  to  the  feast.  The  shepherds  came. 
(Why  should  shepherds  be  coming  to  a  rabbi  merchant's 


SERO   SED   SERIO  59 

house?)  One  of  them  sang  a  song,  and  all  were  merry.  So 
ends  the  fourth  and  last  part,  twenty-seven  pages. 

Without  comment,  it  can  be  seen  clearly  how  Greene  is 
making  use  of  the  prodigal  story  as  it  comes  down  from  the 
prodigal  plays  such  as  that  of  Gnaepheus.  The  proportions 
of  his  novel  are  not  quite  those  of  the  play,  but  the  main 
incidents  are  the  same. 

The  Mourning  Garment  is  the  only  novel  which  follows  the 
prodigal  story  throughout  its  length  in  all  details.  But  other 
novels  of  Greene  follow  it  in  certain  parts,  and  certainly  are 
to  be  classed  as  belonging  to  the  prodigal-son  literature  of 
the  time.  One  of  Greene's  variations  is  that  to  be  found  in 
Never  too  Late  and  its  sequel  Francescos  Fortunes,  the  two 
novels  together  making  a  form  of  the  prodigal  story.  The 
story  opens  with  a  frame-work  not  unlike  that  of  Arbasto, 
except  that  the  man  who  does  the  talking  tells,  not  his  own 
story  as  Arbasto  does,"  but  that  of  one  Francesco.  The 
palmer's  story  does  not  begin  in  accordance  with  the  prodigal- 
son  story  at  all.  Indeed  the  whole  first  part  of  the  prodigal 
story  is  omitted.  There  is  substituted  instead  the  love  story 
of  Francesco  and  Isabel,  which  is  quite  in  the  manner  of  the 
Italian  novelle,  and  which  has  certain  elements  in  the  last 
part  decidedly  reminiscent  of  Greek  Romance.  The  con- 
clusion of  it  all  is  that  Francesco  and  Isabel  were  married  and 
lived  happily. 12 

After  Francesco  and  Isabel  had  been  married  for  seven 
years,  business  took  Francesco  to  Troynovant.  He  intended 
to  stay  nine  weeks,  and  so,  having  sold  his  horse  and  rented 

"  Unless  Francesco  and  the  palmer  are  one. 

^^  Francesco  for  a  time  kept  a  school.  Euphues  was  a  scholar.  In 
Riche's  tale,  "Of  two  Brethren  and  their  Wives"  (Shak.  Soc.  Vol.  XVI., 
p.  127),  an  old  man  had  two  sons.  The  elder  held  the  lands,  the  younger 
was  trained  up  in  learning.  Roberto,  in  Greene's  Groatsworth  of  Wit, 
v/as  a  student.  These  may  all  be  remnants  from  the  prodigal-student 
drama. 


60  ROBERT   GREENE 

a  room,  he  worked  hard  in  order  to  get  back  to  Isabel  as 
soon  as  possible.  This,  in  a  regular  prodigal-son  story, 
would  be  the  end  of  the  first  part;  but,  as  we  see,  there  is 
nothing  of  the  prodigal  story  about  it. 

From  here  on  the  prodigal  story  is  carried  out  more  or  less 
losely.     Having  settled  down  in  Troynovant,  Francesco  one 
ay  sees  a  gentlewoman  at  a  window  (Digression  on  Courte- 
ans).     This  courtezan  desires  to  entrap  him.     She  succeeds 
n  doing  so.     When  Francesco  gets  back  to  his  room  he  thinks 
of  Isabel.    He  meditates,  but  decides  to  enjoy  the  company  of 
Infida  while  he  is  in  Troynovant.    So  many  days  pass.     Once 
he  thinks  of  Isabel,  but  the  virtuous  impression  is  soon  gone. 
Meantime  Isabel  is  wondering  why  Francesco  does  not  re- 
turn to  her.     She  hears  rumors  of  the  affair  with  Infida,  but 
\she  construes  everything  for  the  best.     She  writes  a  letter 
filing  of  her  longing  for  him.     She  speaks  of  their  child, 
and  hopes  it  is  business  and  not  anger  that  keeps  him  away. 
Upon  receipt  of  his  wife's  letter,  Francesco  decides  to  go 
home.      But  when  he  sees  Infida,   he  changes    his  mind, 
scoffs  at  the  letter,  and  lives  on  in  sin.     Thus  three  years 


t 


So  much  for  the  second  part  of  the  story.  This  part  cor- 
responds very  well  to  that  of  the  prodigal's  sojourn  in  a  far 
land.  There  is  no  doubt  that  Greene  got  this  part  of  his 
story  from  another  prodigal-son  story  of  the  period.  The 
whole  situation,  as  M.  Jusserand  pointed  out,'^  came  from 
Warner's  story  of  Opheltes.  Opheltes  married  to  Alcippe 
(Francesco  married  to  Isabel)  goes  to  Sardis  (Francesco  goes 
to  Troynovant)  where  he  is  entrapped  by  Phoemonoe,  a  cour- 
tezan (Francesco  is  entrapped  by  Infida).  Alcippe  goes  to 
the  courtezan's  house  where  she  becomes  a  servant.  Opheltes 
is  ruined  and  turned  out  of  doors.  Then  when  Alcippe  reveals 
her  identity,  the  couple  are  happy.  Isabel  merely  sent  a 
*'  English  Novel  in  the  Time  of  Shakespeare,  p.  150. 


SERO    SED    SERIO  61 

letter  to  Francesco.  Greene,  as  we  shall  presently  see,  had 
other  adventures  m  store  for  her  than  to  enter  the  courtezan's 
service. 

Now  begins  the  third  part  of  the  story,  that  of  the  prodi- 
gal's degeneration.  At  last,  after  three  years  of  riotous 
living,  Francesco's  money  is  gone.  He  asks  Infida  for  a  loan. 
She  refuses  and  casts  him  off.  Francesco  is  very  disconsolate 
(long  speech),  and  bitter  against  courtezans.  He  makes  up 
his  mind  to  go  home,  and  then  lies  down  to  sleep.  When  he 
awakes  (we  are  now  in  Francescos  Fortunes,  the  Second  Part 
of  Never  too  Late),  he  begins  to  revile  women.  He  has  no 
money.  His  hostess  (not  the  courtezan  this  time)  sells  his 
clothes.  He  is  too  proud  to  work.  At  last  he  falls  in  with  — 
not  a  farmer  who  gives  him  a  job  feeding  swine,  but  a  com- 
pany of  players,  for  whom  he  begins  to  write  plays.  In  this 
capacity  he  becomes  prosperous.  Infida,  hearing  of  his  J 
prosperity,  tries  to  recapture  him.  But  Francesco  had  learned 
his  lesson. 

In  the  meantime,  Isabel  had  experiences  at  home.  She 
became  noted  for  her  virtues.  One  Signor  Bernardo  fell  in 
love  with  her,  and  laid  plans  to  win  her.  The  story  is  that 
of  the  modest  Susanna  made  to  fit  the  circumstances.^^ 
Greene  early  in  his  career  had  written  the  Mirrour  of  Modes- 
tie,  a  version  of  the  Apocryphal  story  of  Susanna  and  the 
elders.  The  theme  seems  to  have  appealed  to  him  again, 
for  it  is  the  same  story  that  he  uses  for  Isabel's  experiences. 
In  many  passages,  especially  in  the  latter  half,  the  two 
stories  are  identical,  even  to  the  minutest  phraseology. 

News  of  this  event  comes  to  the  ears  of  Francesco  in 
Troynovant  as  he  sits  in  a  tavern.  His  conscience  hurts 
him,  and  he  goes  to  his  chamber.     He  sees  his  folly,  and 

*^  See  Herford,  Literary  Relations  of  England  and  Germany  in  the 
Sixteenth  Century,  (Chap.  III.)  for  an  account  of  the  influence  of  the 
modest  Susanna  theme  in  the  Drama. 


62  ROBERT   GREENE 

writes  a  poem  about  it.  He  prepares  to  go  home.  One  of 
his  friends  gives  him  twelve  precepts. 

Thus  ends  the  third  part,  with  the  curious  combination  of 
the  prodigal's  repentance  and  —  departing  from  the  tradi- 
tion —  its  included  account  of  what  happened  to  his  wife  at 
home.^^ 

After  five  days  Francesco  arrives  at  home.  There  is  no 
aged  father  to  fall  upon  his  neck  and  weep,  but  there  is  his 
faithful  wife.  Francesco  is  overcome  with  remorse  (long 
speech).  He  repents  and  weeps  bitterly.  Isabel  forgives 
him.  They  have  supper.  After  supper  the  host  offers  to 
tell  them  a  tale.  He  does  so  (a  light  tale)  in  no  less  than 
fifty  pages! 

So  ends  the  fourth  part,  after  which  Francesco  and  Isabel 
spend  the  rest  of  their  lives  in  quiet. 

Having  finished  the  prodigal  story,  Greene  returns  to  his 
frame-work  —  about  which  we  have  forgotten  by  this  time 
—  and  has  the  palmer  tell  his  reasons  for  traveling  about  the 
country.  He  says  that  he  has  been  in  all  the  cities  of  Europe, 
and  is  on  his  way  to  Venice.  It  is  his  business  to  draw  men 
from  Venus.  He  writes  some  verses  upon  the  wall  and  then 
departs.  What  he  did,  and  how  he  lived,  Greene  will,  if  he 
hears,  let  us  know. 

There  is  one  prodigal-son  story  left,  the  Groatsworth  of  Wit. 
There  once  lived  a  wealthy  old  man  who  had  two  sons.  The 
old  man  esteemed  the  elder  as  the  heir  apparent,  but  ne- 
glected the  other,  who  like  Francesco  was  a  scholar  and 
married  to  a  gentlewoman.  At  last  the  old  Gorinius  became 
very  ill.  He  called  his  sons  in  to  him  and  bade  them  fare- 
well. All  his  goods  he  left  to  Lucanio,  the  elder.  To  the 
younger,  Roberto,  he  left  an  old  groat  wherewith  to  buy  wit, 

1^  The  Susanna  story  is  substituted  for  the  coming  of  Alcippe  to 
the  courtezan's  house.  Of  course  both  Warner's  and  Greene's  stories 
emphasize  the  wife's  virtue  and  the  husband's  prodigality. 


SERO    SED    SERIO  63 

the  reason  for  this  unequal  allotment  being  that  one  day  at 
table  Roberto  had  censured  his  father  and  some  guests  for 
being  usurers.^^  Then  after  some  further  advice  to  Lucanio, 
Gorinius  died.  The  scene  of  which  I  have  just  given  a 
synopsis  corresponds  to  the  first  part  of  the  prodigal  story. ^^ 

The  second  part  of  the  story  proceeds  as  follows.  Roberto 
was  greatly  angered  by  his  father's  bequest  and  decided  to 
get  revenge.  He  went  to  Lucanio.  He  flattered  him  and 
told  him  he  ought  to  marry.  He  said  he  would  help  him  to 
find  a  wife.  Then  Roberto  took  Lucanio  to  the  house  of 
Lamilia,  a  courtezan.  Lucanio  was  ensnared.  There  was 
music,  dancing,  supper,  and  talk.  Roberto  encouraged  Lu- 
canio, so  that  Lamilia's  power  was  complete.  Presently 
Lamilia,  Roberto,  and  Lucanio  began  to  play  at  dice.  La- 
milia was  winning.  Lucanio  went  to  his  rooms  for  more 
money.  While  he  was  gone  Roberto  asked  for  his  share  of 
the  winnings.  Lamilia  refused  and  reviled  him  for  betraying 
his  brother.  When  Lucanio  came  back  Lamilia  told  him 
how  Roberto  had  set  about  to  betray  him.  Lucanio  became 
very  angry,  and  Roberto  was  turned  out  of  doors. 

Roberto  was  in  trouble.  He  had  no  money.  He  fell  in 
with  a  man  (as  in  Francescos  Fortunes)  who  proposed  that  he 
write  plays.  Roberto  went  with  the  player.  Lamilia  con- 
tinued to  hold  Lucanio  in  her  power.  By  the  end  of  two 
years,  she  had  possessed  herself  of  all  of  Lucanio's  money, 

1^  Cassander,  in  Callimachus'  tale  {Euphues  and  his  England,  Vol. 
II.     Ed.  Bond,  p.  14)  was  also  a  usurer. 

1'  Instead  of  the  scene  of  a  young  man's  struggle  to  gain  his  father's 
consent  to  travel  and  of  the  young  man's  departure,  scenes  similar  to 
that  in  Groatsworth  of  Wit  came  to  be  substituted.  In  Euphues  and  his 
England  (Ed.  Bond,  Vol.  II.,  p.  14)  the  tale  of  Callimachus  opens  in 
the  same  way.  The  father  dies  after  giving  much  advice,  and  leaves 
the  son  disappointed  in  his  inheritance.  In  the  prodigal-son  story  of 
Cassander  in  the  same  work  (p.  23)  the  youth  starts  out  to  travel  after 
he  has  received  his  inheritance  from  the  hand  of  a  dying  father. 


64  ROBERT   GREENE 

and  she  dismissed  him.  Soon  Lucanio  became  a  pander, 
and  continued  so  until  his  death. 

In  the  meantime  Roberto  had  become  famous  as  a  play- 
wright. He  kept  low  company,  and  did  not  pay  his  debts. 
He  knew  all  the  low  people  and  "learned  the  legerdemaines 
of  nips,  foysters,  conni-catchers,  crosbiters,  lifts,  high  Law- 
yers, and  all  the  rabble  of  that  uncleane  generation  of  vipers; 
and  pithily  could  he  point  out  their  whole  courses  of  craft."  ^* 
His  wife  implored  him  to  return.  But  he  would  not.  He 
had  a   sister  of  a  villain  named  Ball  for  his  mistress. 

Finally  God's  judgment  came,  and  with  it  the  end  of  the 
middle  part  of  the  story.  This  middle  is  something  of  a 
departure  from  the  tradition.  The  motive  of  revenge  on 
the  part  of  Roberto  is  different.  Yet  it  is  not  altogether 
unlike  the  attitude  of  Callimachus  (Lyly,  Ed.  Bond,  Vol. 
II.,  p.  17)  who  upon  finding  that  his  inheritance  consisted  of 
some  words  of  wisdom  sealed  up  in  a  chest,  fell  into  "an 
extreame  rage,  renting  his  clothes  and  tearing  his  haire,"  and 
cursed  his  father's  will.  Seeing  that  curses  aided  nothing 
he  set  out  to  travel.  Callimachus,  like  Acolastus,  was  an 
only  son.  Roberto,  on  the  other  hand,  had  a  brother  against 
whom  he  could  vent  his  anger.  From  rage,  such  as  Calli- 
machus displayed,  to  revenge  (when  revenge  is  possible)  is, 
then,  not  too  great  a  departure  from  tradition  to  have  been 
easily  made.  Having  given  the  younger  son  the  impulse 
for  revenge,  the  traditional  scenes  of  the  enticement  by  the 
courtezan,  the  supper,  music,  and  talk,  the  winning  away  of 
the  inheritance  then  fall  to  the  lot  of  the  elder  brother  who  is 
thus  made  a  prodigal.  The  dismissal  of  Roberto  by  Lamilia 
is  of  course  natural.  Lamilia  had  Lucanio  in  her  power. 
There  was  no  necessity  for  sharing  the  profits  with  Roberto. 
The  meeting  with  the  player  is  taken  over  from  Francescos 

'8  Vol.  XII.,  p.  134.  References  no  doubt  to  Greene's  own  conny- 
catching  pamphlets. 


SERO   SED   SERIO  65 

Fortunes.  The  imploring  of  the  wife  for  Roberto's  return  is 
also  similar  to  that  in  Francescos  Fortunes,  but  we  hear  noth- 
ing in  this  case  of  what  has  been  happening  to  her.  Nor  do 
we  know  where  she  is.  The  idea  of  having  the  prodigal 
married  and  of  having  his  wife  anxious  for  him,  we  have  seen, 
was  taken  from,  or  at  least  is  similar  to,  Warner's  Opheltes. 

Now  for  the  last  part.  Roberto  became  very  poor  —  no 
reason  is  given  except  that  of  God's  judgment,  although  one 
thinks  of  Rhenish  wine  and  pickled  herrings  —  and  he  had  no 
money  to  pay  his  debts.  His  friends  were  all  gone.  He  had 
nothing  left  except  the  groat  his  father  had  given  him, 
and  he  began  to  think  of  his  father's  legacy. 

Here  Greene  breaks  off  his  story  of  Roberto.  The  rest  of 
it  is  written  in  his  own  person.  The  discussion  of  this  por- 
tion of  the  work  is  not  proper  at  this  time.  It  belongs  later 
in  the  chapter  with  the  repentances. 

In  addition  to  this  group  of  prodigal-son  stories  there  is  one 
other  novel  which  manifests  the  influence  of  the  story.  This 
is  the  Carde  of  Fancie,  which  is  interesting  not  only  for  the 
unique  way  in  which  the  story  is  used  but  also  as  showing 
how  early  (1584)  Greene  felt  the  influence  of  the  story.  The 
Carde  of  Fancie  is  three-fourths  romance.^*  A  young  man, 
a  stranger  at  the  court,  falls  in  love  with,  and  is  loved  by, 
the  Duke's  daughter.  War  breaks  out  with  a  neighboring 
Duke  (the  young  man's  father).  A  rival  for  the  hand  of  the 
daughter  denounces  the  young  man  as  a  spy.  Consequent 
difficulties  arise.  But  in  the  end  everything  ends  well,  and 
the  couple  are  happily  married.     This,  as  I  say,  is  all  ro- 

"  The  situation  in  the  Carde  of  Fancie  is  similar  to  that  in  Riche's 
Sappho  Duke  of  Mantua  {Farewell  to  Militarie  Profession,  1581).  An 
unknown  youth  risen  to  great  honor  at  the  court  of  a  Duke  falls  in  love 
with,  and  is  loved  by,  the  Duke's  daughter.  The  Duke  is  very  angry, 
but  is  reconciled  upon  hearing  that  the  youth  is  of  noble  birth. 
There  is  a  double  wedding  at  the  end  of  both  stories. 


66  ROBERT   GREENE 

mance.  But  the  first  part  of  the  story  is  that  of  a  prodigal 
son.  This  same  young  man  had  been  unruly  in  his  father's 
court.  Finally  he  had  decided  to  travel.  Having  won  his 
father's  consent,  and  having  been  carefully  advised  in  his 
father's  farewell  speech,  he  had  set  out.  He  had  spent  some 
months  in  riotous  living,  had  become  penniless,  had  remem- 
bered his  father's  precepts,  had  left  the  scene  of  his  rioting, 
and  had  gone  —  not  home  to  his  father,  but  to  the  court  of 
Alexandria,  where  the  romantic  adventures  already  spoken 
of  took  place. 

Mamillia  is  the  only  other  novel  (aside  from  Pandosto,  in 
which  a  father  gives  his  son  some  worldly  advice)  which 
manifests  the  prodigal-son  influence.  In  Mamillia  we  have 
the  speech  on  worldly  wisdom  repeated  three  times.  Flo- 
rion  writes  to  Mamillia  upon  her  departure  from  court. 
Gonzaga  upon  his  death-bed  makes  a  long  speech  to  his 
daughter.  And  a  most  curious  form  is  that  of  Pharicles, 
who,  as  he  is  nearing  Saragossa,  names  over  to  himself  his 
reasons  for  wearing  his  pilgrim's  garb.  It  is  because  in 
Saragossa  he  will  find  flatterers,  courtezans,  parasites;  he 
will  have  diflSculty  in  choosing  real  friends;  and  so  on  through 
the  catalogue. 

In  a  discussion  of  these  prodigal-son  stories,  the  question 
of  their  autobiographical  interpretation  naturally  comes  up. 
They  have  been  termed  the  "repentant"  pamphlets,  and 
upon  them  no  small  amount  of  our  conception  of  Greene  has 
been  based.  Indeed  they  have  so  far  entered  into  our  atti- 
tude that  we  can  scarcely  think  of  Greene  except  in  terms  of 
them,  —  of  them,  that  is,  and  of  the  Repentance. »  It  seems 
to  me  that  we  have,  for  the  most  part,  gone  too  far  in  our 
acceptance  of  the  prodigal  stories  as  autobiographical;  that 
we  have  been  inclined  to  read  into  them  too  much  of  auto- 
biographical detail  from  our  preconceived  notions  of  Greene 
as  a  repentant  sinner. 


SERO    SED    SERIO  *  67 

In  fact  I  think  that  the  whole  idea  of  repentance  in  con- 
nection with  Greene  has  been  a  Httle  over-emphasized.  The 
theme  of  repentance  was  a  common  one  in  the  prose  and 
poetry  of  the  time.  It  was  used  over  and  over  again,  es- 
pecially by  the  poets,  and  like  many  other  literary  themes  of 
the  day  became  to  a  certain  extent  conventionalized.^"  I 
am  not  saying  that  sinning  and  repenting  were  not  genuine 
experiences  to  Greene;  perhaps  more  to  him  than  to  some 
others.  But  to  speak  of  repentance  as  a  ''characteristic 
note"  belonging  essentially  to  him  is  to  neglect  one  of 
the  popular  Elizabethan  themes. 

There  is  one  other  consideration  which  has  no  doubt  aided 
in  this  over-emphasis.  The  Mourning  Garment  has  for  some 
years  been  recognized  as  being  merely  a  version  of  the  bibli- 
cal story  in  conformance  with  the  Renaissance  tradition  of 
Acolastus  and  the  rest  of  the  prodigal  plays.  But  the  group 
as  a  whole  has  not  been  so  recognized,  —  a  tribute  to  Greene 
as  an  imaginative  writer  that  it  has  not,  —  and  so  we  have 
centered  our  attention  upon  the  repentance  element  of  the 
stories  rather  than  upon  the  fact  that  they  belong  to  a 
specific  type  of  fiction,  and  upon  the  more  fundamental  fact 
that  repentance  is  an  inherent  and  inevitable  element  in  that 
kind  of  writing. 

If  we  examine  closely,  we  shall  find  that  the  only  radical 
departure  in  these  prodigal  stories  of  Greene  to  which  no 
parallel  exists  elsewhere  in  contemporary  fiction  is  that  of  the 
substitution  of  the  writing  of  plays  for  the  feeding  of  swine 
as  the  prodigal's  lot  while  he  is  in  the  far  country.  This 
element  may  be,  probably  is,  autobiographical;  at  least  it 
may  have  been  suggested  by  Greene's  experience.  But  that 
it  is  not  possible  on  this  one  detail  to  base  the  conclusion 
that  the  novels  in  which  it  is  found  are  also  autobiographical 

""  See  p.  139  where  I  have  dealt  with  the  subject  of  repentant  poetry 
in  connection  with  the  repentant  poetry  of  Greene. 


68  ROBERT   GREENE 

is  at  once  obvious.  The  particular  element,  if  Greene  meant 
it  to  be  such,  is  merely  a  biographical  detail  in  the  midst  of 
a  version  of  the  prodigal-son  story. 

The  question  is  not,  then,  that  of  endeavoring  to  discover 
what  details  in  certain  of  Greene's  works  represent  actual 
details  in  his  own  life  history;  it  is  rather  that  of  determining 
to  what  extent  the  general  tone  of  the  so-called  repentance 
pamphlets  is  applicable  to  their  author.  In  this  connection, 
we  must  remember  to  ask  whether,  dissociated  from  Greene's 
name,  they  would  suggest  anything  else  than  stories  on 
the  familiar  theme  of  the  prodigal  son.  As  a  group,  I 
see  in  them  nothing  more.  I  can  only  believe  that  in  pro- 
ducing them  Greene  was  writing  not  autobiography  but 
commercial  fiction.  Not  that  the  two  are  necessarily 
incompatible,  but  that  the  point  of  view  is  different. 

If  the  mood  of  the  prodigal  story  happened  to  fit  in  with 
his  own  nature,  —  that  is  another  matter.  There  is  no  rea- 
son for  thinking,  because  he  used  pastoral  elements  in  certain 
of  his  romances,  and  because  he  used  them  artistically  and 
effectively,  that  the  current  interest  in  pastoralism  did  not 
correspond  to  certain  definite  tendencies  in  his  own  make-up. 
Just  so  with  the  prodigal  stories.  While  autobiographical 
inferences  must  be  derived  with  caution,  there  is  no  need  of 
going  to  the  other  extreme  and  denying  any  reflection  of 
Greene's  own  career  in  his  work.  Greene  was  a  sentimental- 
ist. It  is  impossible  to  believe  that  when  he  shut  himself 
up  alone  with  pen,  paper,  Longus,  or  Acolastus,  he  forgot 
absolutely  about  himself.  At  the  same  time,  "repentant 
pamphlets"  were  for  him  primarily  fiction. 

The  conclusion  which  I  have  stated,  that  the  prodigal 
stories  are  to  be  regarded  as  fiction  rather  than  as  autobiog- 
raphy, is  confirmed,  it  seems  to  me,  in  the  statements  of 
Greene  himself,  and  in  his  attitude  toward  them.  At  the 
end  of  Never  too  Late,  he  bids  us  look  for  its  sequel,  Francescos 


SERO  SED  SEBIO  69 

Fortunes,  "and  after  that  my  Farewell  to  Follie,  and  then 
adieu  to  all  amorous  Pamphlets."  ^^  The  Never  too  Late  is 
thus  apparently  one  of  the  amorous  pamphlets.  At  the  be- 
ginning of  the  promised  sequel,  we  are  told  that  if  the  work 
had  not  been  promised  it  would  never  have  been  written. 
But  here  it  is.  Henceforth  we  are  to  look  for  Greene's  pen 
in  "more  deeper  matters." ^^  By  the  end  of  the  book  (p.  229) 
Greene  has  evidently  forgotten  his  reluctance,  for  we  find 
there  that  if  he  has  further  news  he  will  send  us  tidings  in 
another  book.  Such  a  statement  seems  to  invalidate  that  of 
the  preface.  But  of  course  the  first  statement  is  meaning- 
less. Lyly  had  said  the  same  thing,  "I  hope  you  will  rather 
pardon  for  the  rudeness  in  that  it  is  the  first,  &  protect  it 
the  more  willingly  if  it  offend  in  that  it  shalbe  the  laste/'^J 
while  he  was  definitely  promising  a  second  part.^* 

While  we  are  waiting  for  the  Farewell  to  Follie,  out  comes 
the  Mourning  Garment,  as  "the  first  fruites  of  my  new  la- 
bours, and  the  last  farewell  to  my  fond  desires,"  ^^  which 
was  licensed  Nov,  2,  1590.  Now  if  the  Mourning  Garment 
is  the  first-fruits  of  a  new  life,  one  wants  to  know  what  the 
Never  too  Late  and  Francescos  Fortunes  were,  —  for  they  were 
just  like  it.  Yet  Greene  has  deplored  these  as  wanton.  The 
impression  we  get  is  that  Greene  had  not  made  up  his  mind 
in  regard  to  this  matter.  Perhaps  the  statements  are  not 
unlike  those  we  are  accustomed  to  hear  in  our  day  of  the 
farewell  tours  of  prima  donnas  and  once  famous  actresses. 

Finally  in  1591,  as  the  "ultimum  vale"  to  youthful  vani- 
ties, appeared  the  long-heralded  Farewell  to  Follie,  Greene's 
"many  yeeres  (he  was  then  thirty-three)  having  bitten  me 

"  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  109.  22  Vol.  VIIL,  p.  118. 

"  Lyly.     Ed.  Bond.     Vol.  I.,  p.  180. 

2*  "You  shall  in  the  seconde  part  heare  what  newes  he  bringeth." 
p.  323. 

"  Vol.  VIIL,  p.  22. 


70  ROBERT   GREENE 

with  experience,  and  age  growing  on  bidding  mee  Petere 
graviora."^^  But  even  here  Greene  cannot  look  upon  his 
past  work  as  wholly  bad,  —  including  the  three  "repent- 
ance" pamphlets.  His  works  were  "mixed  with  such  morall 
principles,"  he  consoles  himself,  "that  the  precepts  of  vertue 
seemed  to  crave  pardon." ^^  Of  course  they  could  not  be  so 
bad  as  to  hinder  their  sale! 

Greene  prefixes  to  the  Farewell  to  Follie  the  repentant 
motto.  It  is  quite  as  solemnly  pronounced  Sero  sed  serio  as 
the  rest.  But  this  pamphlet  has  nothing  of  repentance  in  it. 
It  is  nothing  but  a  frame-work  tale  of  the  Omne  tulit  punctum 
sort.2* 

All  of  this  disbelief  that  Greene  meant  anything  serious 
by  his  professions  of  repentance  —  at  least  that  his  purpose 
in  talking  about  repentance  was  largely  mercenary  —  in- 
cludes skepticism  in  regard  to  the  experiences  related  in  the 
Vision.  All  we  know  about  the  religious  disturbance  which 
is  supposed  to  have  occurred  in  1590  is  to  be  found  in  this 
one  pamphlet.  Whether  or  not  Greene  had  such  a  disturb- 
ance of  mind,  no  one,  I  suppose,  can  ever  actually  know.  I 
am  inclined  to  believe  that  he  had  not,  and  to  say  with  Pro- 
fessor Greg 29  that  there  is  "a  strong  suspicion  that  Greene 
.  .  .  adopted  the  machinery  of  repentance  by  way  of  ex- 
plaining and  advertising  a  change  of  style."  The  Cobbler  of 
Canterbury,  which  was  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble,  was  pub- 
lished sometime  in  1590;  we  cannot  tell  just  when.  Now 
Greene's  Orpharion  was  licensed  January  9.  There  would 
hardly  have  been  time  before  that  for  Greene  to  have  been 
burdened  with  the  authorship  of  the  Cobbler  of  Canterbury 
and  to  have  had  the  repentance.  But  the  Orpharion  — 
written  before  the  Cobbler  —  concludes  thus:  "Yet  could  I 
not  hie  so  fast,  43ut  ere  I  got  home  I  was  overtaken  with  re- 

2«  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  228.  28  See  Chap.  II. 

27  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  227.  29  Mod.  Lang.  Rev.     Vol.  I.,  p.  241. 


SERO    SED    SERIO  71 

pentance."^"  I  do  not  know  how  to  understand  this  last 
sentence  if  it  is  not  an  announcement  of  the  forthcoming 
series  of  pamphlets,  and  if  it  does  not  mean  that  Greene  was 
planning  the  series  even  before  the  events  supposed  to  have 
happened  in  the  Vision  had  occurred. ^^  Especially  since 
Never  too  Late,  the  first  of  the  series,  written  before  the  events 
described  in  the  Vision,  bears  Omne  tulit  punctum  on  its 
title-page.  Francescos  Fortunes,  the  sequel,  is  designated  as 
Sero  sed  serio.  There  is  danger,  one  must  admit,  of  going 
too  far  to  the  other  extreme:  but  in  view  of  the  evidence  at 
hand  I  see  nothing  sincere  about  the  whole  affair. 

Misplacing  of  attention  away  from  the  real  nature  of  what 
Greene  was  doing  and  the  consequent  searching  for  autobio- 
graphical materials  have  obscured  the  significance  of  Greene's 
work.  That  significance,  I  take  it,  is  the  fact  that  Greene 
was  able  to  treat  the  prodigal  story  in  an  imaginative  way. 

The  three  novels  which  I  have  grouped  together,  from 
their  common  theme,  manifest  the  same  general  qualities  as 
are  shown  in  Greene's  earlier  works.  The  story  was  al- 
ready formed.  In  itself  it  was  good;  and  it  had,  besides, 
definiteness  of  treatment  from  its  use  in  the  Latin  plays. 
But  it  did  not  suffer  in  Greene's  hands.  The  ability  for 
teUing  a  story  which  Greene  had  already  acquired  was  enough 
to  sustain  interest  even  in  so  familiar  a  theme  as  that  of  the 
prodigal  son.  In  characterization  these  novels  are  thoroughly 
in  accord  with  Greene's  failure  to  create  Uving  people.  The 
prodigals  who  set  off  on  the  journey  are  all  just  alike.  Phila- 
dor,  Roberto,  Francesco,  Gwydonius,  —  their  places  might 
be  changed,  and  no  one  would  be  the  wiser.  Infida  and 
Lamilia  are  different  only  in  their  names.^^ 

3"  Vol.  XII.,  p.  94. 

*i  See  Chapter  on  Chronology  of  Greene's  Non-Dramatic  Work. 
32  On  the  subject  of  the  courtezans  in  these  prodigal  stories  a  word 
is  needed.     Storojenko  and  others  since  his  time  have  alluded  to  the 


72  ROBERT   GREENE 

Like  the  romantic  pastoral  the  story  of  the  prodigal  son 
offered  no  clearly  recognized  outlines  to  the  novelist.  It  had 
been  worked  out  in  the  drama  into  more  or  less  definite  form 
as  represented  by  the  Acolastus  and  the  Studentes.  But 
quite  as  much  as  other  types  of  fiction  this  one  was  yet  in  the 
formative  stage.  There  was  a  general  scheme;  there  were 
suggestions,  incentives;  yet  there  was  no  fixed  tradition  as 
to  the  method  of  narrative  treatment. 

Greene  took  freely  of  what  he  found  at  hand;  he  was  imi- 
tative, rather  than  original,  in  that  respect.  But  when  all  is 
said  and  done,  he  was  an  early,  not  a  late,  borrower. 
The  writing  of  three  or  four  novels  on  the  prodigal 
motives,  even  though  there  was  no  great  difference  between 
them,  was  therefore  a  noteworthy  achievement.  How  im- 
aginative an  achievement  is  well  attested  by  our  lack  of  per- 
ception hitherto  that  Greene  was  in  reality  presenting  us 
with  a  type  of  fiction,  and  by  our  failure  not  only  to 
discover  unity  within  the  group  but  to  understand  the  type 
as  well. 

The  three  prodigal-son  pamphlets,  the  Farewell  to  Follie, 
and  the  Vision  are,  then,  intrinsically  products  of  Greene's 
literary  imagination.  But  the  Repentance  and  the  concluding 
pages  of  the  Groatsworth  of  Wit  give  an  impression  of  greater 
sincerity.  Both  of  them  come  from  the  month  of  the  fatal  ill- 
ness. Both  were  published  after  Greene's  death,  Groatsworth 
of  Wit  on  September  20,  and  the  Repentance  on  October  6. 

The  last  pages  of  Groatsworth  of  Wit  are  undoubtedly  the 

bitterness  of  Greene's  later  attitude  toward  women  as  compared  to  the 
earlier  attitude  shown  in  Mariana,  Sephestia,  and  the  other  heroines  of 
the  romances.  I  had  occasion  to  speak  of  this  alleged  change  of  front 
in  connection  with  Alcida  (Chap.  II.,  p.  25);  and  I  repeat  what  I  said 
there.  I  see  nothing  which  indicates  an  added  bitterness  in  Greene's 
mind.  Just  as  repentance  is  a  part  of  the  material  in  a  prodigal-son 
story,  so  is  a  courtezan  an  indispensable  accessory. 


SERO   SED   SERIO  73 

most  famous  of  Greene's  writings.  They  contain,  indeed, 
some  lines  to  be  numbered  among  the  most  famous  lines  in 
the  English  language: 

"Yes  trust  them  not:  for  there  is  an  upstart  Crow,  beautified  with 
our  feathers,  that  with  his  Tygers  heart  wrapt  in  a  Players  hide,  supposes 
he  is  as  well  able  to  bumbast  out  a  blanke  verse  as  the  best  of  you:  and 
being  an  absolute  Johannes  fac  totum,  is  in  his  owne  conceit  the  onely 
Shak-scene  in  a  countrie." 

In  addition  to  the  celebrated  allusion,  the  rest  of  Greene's 
words  are  of  value. 

Roberto,  the  hero  of  what  has  up  to  this  point  been  a  prodi- 
gal-son story,  has  reached  the  bottom  of  his  despair.  He 
recalls  his  father's  precepts  and  knows  that  it  is  too  late  to 
buy  the  wit  he  so  negligently  forgot  to  buy.  His  emotions 
overcome  him.  "Heere  (Gentlmen)  breake  I  off  Robertos 
speech;  whose  life  in  most  parts  agreeing  with  mine,  found 
one  selfe  punishment  as  I  have  done."  It  would  help  us  to 
understand  the  Groatsworih  of  Wit  if  we  could  know  just 
when  it  was  written.  But  we  do  not  know.  It  seems  reason- 
able, however,  to  suppose  that  it  was  begun  before  Greene 
had  realized  the  seriousness  of  his  disease.  "Greene  though 
able  inough  to  write,  yet  deeplyer  searched  with  sicknesse 
than  ever  heretofore,  sends  you  his  Swanne-like  song,  for  he 
feares  that  he  shall  never  againe  carroll  to  you  woonted 
love  layes  [we  thought  he  had  given  that  up  two  years  ago], 
never  discover  to  you  youths  pleasures.  .  .  .  This  is  .  .  . 
I  feare  me  the  last  I  shall  write."  He  apologizes  for 
the  condition  of  the  story  as  an  "Enbrion  without  shape." 
Then  he  proceeds  with  his  tale  only  thirty-four  pages,  when 
he  breaks  down.  His  illness  has  probably  become  much 
worse.  He  is  sure  that  death  is  upon  him.  "Though  no  man 
be  by  me  to  doe  me  good,  yet  ere  I  die,  I  will  by  my  repent- 
ance indevor  to  doe  all  men  good."  His  tendency  toward 
sentimentalism  grows  into  morbidness.     He  condemns  him- 


74  ROBERT   GREENE 

self,  his  past  life  —  which  had  no  doubt  been  wild  enough  — 
and  his  works  without  distinction.  "Ah  Gentlemen,  that 
live  to  reade  my  broken  and  confused  lines,  looke  not  I 
should  (as  I  was  woont)  delight  you  with  vain  fantasies, 
but  gather  my  follies  altogether,  and  .  ,  .  cast  them  into 
the  fire.  .  .  .  O  that  the  teares  of  a  miserable  man  .  .  . 
might  wash  their  memorie  out  with  me  death.  .  .  .  But 
sith  they  cannot  let  this  my  last  worke  witness  against 
them  with  me,  how  I  detest  them.  Blacke  is  the  remem- 
brance of  my  blacke  works,  blacker  then  night,  blacker 
then  death,  blacker  then  hell." 

We  cannot  take  such  words  at  their  face  value,  as  they 
pertain  either  to  Greene's  works  or  to  his  deeds.  Gabriel 
Harvey  did  indeed  give  Greene  a  pretty  black  reputation: 

"I  was  altogether  unacquainted  with  the  man,  never  once  saluted 
him  by  name :  but  who  in  London  hath  not  heard  of  his  dissolute,  and 
licentious  living;  his  fonde  disguisinge  of  a  Master  of  Arte  with 
ruflBanly  haire,  unseemly  apparell,  and  more  unseemelye  Company: 
...  his  apeish  counterfeiting  of  every  ridiculous  and  absurd  toy: 
.  .  .  his  monstrous  swearinge  and  horrible  f orswearinge :  .  .  .  his 
continuall  shifting  of  lodgings:  ...  his  keping  of  the  foresaid  Balls 
sister,  a  sorry  ragged  queane,  of  whome  hee  had  his  base  sonne,  In- 
fortunatus  Greene:  his  forsaking  of  his  owne  wife,  too  honest  for  such 
a  husband:  particulars  are  infinite.  .  .  .  He  never  envyed  me  so 
much,  as  I  pittied  him  from  my  heart:  especially  when  his  hostisse 
Isam  with  teares  in  her  eies,  &  sighes  from  a  deeper  fountaine,  (for 
she  loved  him  derely)  tould  me  of  his  lamentable  begging  of  a  penny 
pott  of  Malmsey;  and,  sir  reverence  how  lowsy  he,  and  the  mother  of 
Infortunatus  were  .  .  .  and  how  he  was  faine  poore  soule,  to  borrow 
her  husbandes  shirte,  whiles  his  owne  was  a  washing:  and  how  his 
dublet,  and  hose,  and  sword  were  sold  for  three  shillings:  and  beside 
the  charges  of  his  winding  sheete,  which  was  foure  shillinges:  and  the 
charges  of  hys  buriall  yesterday,  in  the  New-churchyard  neere  Bedlam, 
was  six  shillinges,  and  four  pence;  how  deeply  hee  was  indebted  to  her 
poore  husbande:  as  appeared  by  hys  own  bonde  of  tenne  poundes: 
which  the  good  woman  kindly  shewed  me."^^ 

33  Harvey's  Works.     Ed.  Grosart,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  168-71. 


SERO   SED   SERIO  75 

But  Harvey  was  an  enemy.  Perhaps  Nashe  was  more  nearly 
right. 

"Debt  and  deadly  sinne,  who  is  not  subject  to?  With  any  notori- 
ous crime  I  never  knew  him  tainted." 

Greene  had  lived  hard.  There  is  unquestionably  much  truth 
in  the  picture  that  Harvey  paints  of  Greene's  last  days  and 
of  his  ignoble  death.  But  so  were  they  all  wild.  Greene 
was  probably  no  better,  no  worse,  than  the  rest.  These 
young  University  Wits  were  somewhat  beyond  the  pale  of 
substantial  citizenship,  anyway. 

Whatever  his  life  had  been,  Greene's  dying  words  are  not 
literally  true.  They  represent  him  as  a  man  depraved; 
and  Greene  was  not  that.  But  they  reveal  clearly  the  state 
of  mind  in  which  he  was,  —  a  sensitive  being,  friendless  and 
in  poverty,  sick  unto  death,  with  conscience  torturing  him 
into  anguish  through  memories  of  a  wasted  life.  As  for  his 
works,  Greene  need  not  have  been  so  troubled  about 
them.3^ 

After  this  self-vituperation  Greene  writes  a  letter  "to 
those  Gentlemen  his  Quondam  acquaintance,  that  spend  their 
wits  in  making  plaies,"  with  the  address  to  Marlowe,  Nashe,^* 

^*  "Justice  demands  the  acknowledgment  that  Greene's  imagina- 
tion is  entire  and  undefiled:  in  all  these  tales  I  cannot  recall  a  single 
sneaking  allusion  or  prurient  image  or  lascivious  detail."  S.  L.  WolflF, 
Eng.  St.,  Vol.  37,  p.  350. 

Such  statements  are  common  among  Greene's  critics.  Without 
depreciating  the  purity  of  Greene's  writings,  I  think  we  have  been 
inclined  to  underestimate  that  of  some  other  writers  of  fiction.  I 
fail  to  see  that  Greene  stands  out  in  striking  distinction  to  Lyly,  Lodge, 
Sidney,  or  several  others  that  might  be  mentioned. 

'^  Upon  the  identification  of  "young  Juvenall"  much  energy  has 
been  expended  —  "that  by  ting  Satyrist,  that  lastlie  with  mee  together 
^Tit  a  Comedie."  For  summary  of  various  contentions  see  McKerrow's 
edition  of  Nashe,  Vol.  V.,  p.  143.  Also  Gayley's  Representative  English 
Coviedies,  p.  424,  seq.,  where  "A  Knack  to  Know  a  Knave"  is  offered 
as  a  solution  for  the  unknown  "Comedie." 


76  ROBERT   GREENE 

and  Peele,  and  the  attack  on  Shakespeare;  a  fable  of  the 
grasshopper  and  the  ant;  and  finally  a  letter  to  his  wife, 
committing  to  her  the  charge  of  their  son.  All  three 
reiterate  the  repentance  for  sin. 

"Well,  my  hand  is  tired,  and  I  am  forst  to  leave  where  I 
would  begin;  for  a  whole  booke  could  not  containe  these 
wrongs,  which  I  am  forst  to  knit  up  in  some  few  lines  of 
words." 

The  Repentance  was  published  after  the  Groatsworth  of 
Wit.  This  pamphlet,  like  the  former,  "dooth  lay  open  the 
graceles  endevours  of  my  selfe."  It  is  divided  into  two  parts : 
the  first  being  the  Repentance;  the  second,  the  Life  and 
Death.  We  have  the  same  upbraidings  and  self-accusa- 
tions. "I  was  the  mirrour  of  mischief e,  and  the  very  pat- 
terne  of  all  prejudiciall  actions."  Greene  was,  too,  he  says, 
"a  meere  Atheist,"  and  a  despiser  of  death.  "Tush,  what 
better  is  he  that  dies  in  his  bed  than  he  that  endes  his  life 
at  Tyburne,  all  owe  God  a  death:  if  I  may  have  my  desire 
while  I  live,  I  am  satisfied,  let  me  shift  after  death  as  I  may." 
And  again,  "Hell  (quoth  I)  what  talke  you  of  hell  to  me? 
I  know  if  I  once  come  there,  I  shall  have  the  company  of 
better  men  than  my  selfe,  I  shal  also  meete  with  some  madde 
knaves  in  that  place,  &  so  long  as  I  shall  not  sit  there 
alone,  my  care  is  the  lesse."  So  the  young  blasphemer  goes 
on.3* 

All  this  was  to  change:  the  day  of  judgment  came.  With 
it  came  much  grief. 

The  second  part  deals  very  briefly  with  a  few  events  of 
Greene's  life,  his  parents  "in  the  Cittie  of  Norwitch,"  his 

*  "There  was  no  cryme  so  barbarous,  no  murther  so  bloudy,  no 
oath  so  blasphemous,  no  vice  so  execrable,  but  that  I  could  readely 
recite  where  I  learned  it,  and  by  roate  repeate  the  peculiar  crime  of 
everye  particular  Country,  Citie,  Towne,  Village,  House,  or  Chamber." 
Lyly,  Euphues  and  His  England.     Ed.  Bond.  Vol.  II.,  p.  24. 


SERO   SED    SERIO  77 

early  schooling,   his   dissipation   at   Cambridge,   his  travel 
abroad,^^  his  going  to  London,  his  marriage  to  "a  gentle- 

^^  There  has  never  been  any  doubt  expressed  as  to  the  actuality  of 
this  trip,  and  I  do  not  know  that  there  is  necessity  for  expressing  any 
such  doubt  here.  It  is  interesting  to  note,  however,  that  there  is  in 
Greene's  writings  not  a  single  reference  (with  perhaps  one  possible 
exception)  which  can  be  cited  as  indicating  that  Greene  had  any  direct, 
first-hand  knowledge  of  the  Continent.  Even  in  a  case  like  that  in 
his  Never  too  Late  (1590)  in  which  an  opportunity  seems  to  have  been 
created  expressly  for  descriptions  of  continental  scenes,  Greene  gives 
only  the  vaguest  of  generalities. 

The  passage  referred  to  (Vol.  VIII.,  p.  20-32)  is  rather  interesting 
in  this  connection.  The  palmer,  "My  native  home  is  England,  the 
ende  of  my  journey  is  Venice,  where  I  meane  to  visit  an  olde  friend  of 
mine,  an  Englishman."  Then  follows,  "Sir  (quoth  I)  if  I  might  with 
many  questions  be  not  offensive,  I  would  faine  be  inquisitive  to  knowe, 
as  you  have  passed  along  France,  Germanie,  the  Rine,  and  part  of 
Italic,  what  you  have  noticed  worthie  of  memorie."  To  this  the 
palmer  answers,  "After  I  had  cut  from  Dover  to  Calice,  I  remembred 
what  olde  Homer  writte  of  Ulysses,  that  he  coveted,  not  onely  to  see 
strange  Countries  but  with  a  deepe  insight  to  have  a  view  into  the 
manners  of  men:  so  I  thought  as  I  passed  through  Paris,  not  onely  to 
please  mine  eie,  with  the  curious  Architecture  of  the  building,  but 
with  the  diverse  disposition  of  the  inhabitantes."  The  palmer  proceeds 
to  speak  of  the  court  and  the  subserviency  of  the  French  courtiers, 
and  of  the  amorousness  of  the  French  gentlemen.  He  then  turns  to 
the  Germans.  But  "Nay  stay  sir  (quoth  I)  before  you  passe  the 
Alpes,  give  me  leave  to  holde  you  an  houre  still  in  Lions."  This  leads 
to  the  palmer's  discourse  on  the  French  gentlewomen.  After  this  is 
finished,  he  speaks  briefly  of  a  few  characteristics  of  the  Germans. 
But  he  did  not  become  interested  in  the  German  customs,  and  so 
"sicca  pede  past  them  over,  so  that  I  travelled  up  as  farre  as  Vienna, 
where  I  saw  a  thing  worthie  of  memorie":  not  the  description  of  any 
definite  scene  or  observation  of  national  customs,  as  we  might  expect, 
but  —  a  hermit  in  a  cell!  a  hermit  who  spoke  most  edifyingly  in  "rough 
hie  Dutch  verses"!  From  the  hermit's  cell,  says  the  palmer,  he  went 
"to  Vienna,  and  from  thence  coasted  up  into  the  borders  of  Italy." 

This  passage  from  Never  too  Late  is  the  only  instance  of  its  kind  in 
Greene's  works.     It  seems  to  have  been  written  especially  to  reveal 


78  ROBERT   GREENE 

mans  daughter  of  good  account,  with  whom  I  lived  for  a  while: 
but  for  as  much  as  she  would  persuade  me  from  my  wilful 
wickedness,  after  I  had  a  child  by  her,  I  cast  her  off,  having 
spent  up  the  marriage  money  which  I  obtained  by  her. 
Then  I  left  her  at  six  or  seven,  who  went  into  Lincolnshire, 
and  I  to  London."  There  is,  too,  an  account  of  a  religious 
experience  (not  the  one  told  of  in  the  Vision;  this  one  was 
sometime  before  1585  or  '86.  See  Vol.  XIL,  p.  177)  which 
occurred  in  Norwich,  when  Greene  heard  the  words  of  a 
minister  in  Saint  Andrew's  Church. 

As  to  the  authenticity  of  this  pamphlet  there  can  be  no 
doubt.^^  The  problem  involved  is  quite  a  different  one.  It 
is  the  problem  of  interpretation.  Can  we,  or  can  we  not, 
accept  the  repentance  set  forth  here  (and  in  the  Groatsworth 
of  Wit)  as  sincere?     I  believe  that  we  can.     Greene  foisted 

an  intimate  knowledge  of  the  Continent.  Instead  it  contains  only 
indefinite  statements,  and  those  the  most  commonplace  or  insignificant, 
such  as  might  easily  have  been  gleaned  from  books. 

Judging  from  the  works  alone,  one  might  well  doubt  the  reality  of 
the  Italian  journey.  We  must  remember,  however,  that  Greene  did  not 
in  any  of  his  novels  make  use  of  the  element  of  background.  The  ab- 
sence of  specific  continental  allusions  in  those  stories  of  which  the 
scenes  are  laid  on  the  Continent  is  therefore  no  more  noticeable  than  the 
absence  of  similar  allusions  in  the  few  stories  whose  scene  is  England. 
In  none  of  his  novels  did  he  develop  the  element  of  background  to 
the  extent  that  he  did,  for  example,  in  Friar  Bacon. 

The  Repentance  speaks  of  Greene's  having  been  in  Italy  and  Spain 
(p.  172).  The  Notable  Discovery  has  this  passage:  "I  have  smyled 
with  the  Italian  ...  I  have  eaten  Spanishe  mirabolanes  .... 
Fraunce,  Germanic,  Poland,  Denmarke,  I  knowe  them  all,  yet  not 
affected  to  any  in  the  fourme  of  my  life."  Vol.  X.,  p.  6.  This  pas- 
sage resembles  one  in  Euphues  and  his  Englayxd.  Ed.  Bond.  Vol.  II., 
p.  24.  "If  I  met  with  one  of  Creete,  I  was  ready  to  lye  with  him. 
...  If  with  a  Grecian,  1  could  dissemble.  ...  I  could  court  it 
with  the  Italian,  carous  it  with  the  Dutch-man,"  etc.,  to  Egypt  and 
Turkey. 

^  See  Collins'  edition  of  Greene.     Vol.  I.,  Introduction,  pp.  50-53. 


SERO    SED    SERIO  79 

upon  us  a  series  of  prodigal  stories  under  pretext  of  "reformed 
passions."  In  spite  of  that,  I  think  the  final  repentance  is 
genuine.  When  a  man  comes  to  die,  it  is  a  different  matter. 
Greene  was  stricken  with  remorse.  That,  to  be  sure,  was 
mostly  because  he  was  also  stricken  with  fear.  He  was 
terrified  to  his  inmost  soul.  But  the  cause  of  remorse  does 
not  alter  its  reality. 

"After  he  had  pend  the  former  discourse  (then  lying  sore  sicke  of  a 
surfeit  which  hee  had  taken  with  drinking)  hee  continued  most  patient 
and  penitent;  yea  he  did  with  teares  forsake  the  world,  renounced  swear- 
ing, and  desired  foregiveness  of  God  and  the  worlde  for  all  his  offences : 
so  that  during  all  the  time  of  his  sicknesse  (which  was  about  a  moneths 
space)  hee  was  never  heard  to  sweare,  rave,  or  blaspheme  the  name  of 
God  as  he  was  accustomed  to  do  before  that  time."  ® 

When  he  wrote  the  paragraph  quoted  above,  Cuthbert 
Burbie,  the  enterprising  young  publisher,  no  doubt  had  an 
eye  to  the  edifying  effect  of  such  a  complete  repentance. 
At  least  his  details  do  not  agree  with  Gabriel  Harvey's, 
whose  account  of  Greene's  death  is  most  sordid.  The  truth, 
it  may  be,  lies  between  the  two.  It  is,  after  all,  only  a  human 
picture  as  we  think  of  Greene,  conscience-smitten  for  his  sins, 
renouncing  his  blasphemy  and  swearing,  asking  forgiveness 
of  God  and  the  world;  at  the  same  time,  begging  piteously 
for  "a  penny  pot  of  Malmesy"  at  the  hand  of  Mistress 
Isam. 

Numquam  sera  est  ad  bonos  mores  via.  It  may  be.  But 
for  Greene  the  day  never  came.  Greene  had  the  two  ele- 
ments in  him  of  the  flesh  and  the  spirit,  and  he  could  never 
reconcile  them.  "This  good  motion  lasted  not  long  in  mee," 
is  his  own  comment  of  the  experience  at  Norwich.  A  frank 
confession,  —  and  very  true,  the  confession  of  a  weak  will 
in  terms  of  the  excuse  for  the  return  to  wrong-doing.  The 
impression  was  vivid  while  it  lasted.  So  was  the  final 
39  Vol.  XII.,  p.  184. 


80  ROBERT   GREENE 

repentance.  Only  then,  there  was  no  chance  for  Greene  to 
lose  it. 

In  concluding  this  chapter,  perhaps  we  can  relieve  the 
darkness  a  little  by  a  characteristic,  and  almost  humorous, 
statement  of  Greene's.  Here  he  is  on  his  death-bed,  poor 
fellow,  trying  to  pray  and  condemning  himself  more  severely 
than  any  other  man  who  would  be  charitable  could  con- 
demn him.  "I  w^as  the  child  of  perdition,"  is  his  judgment 
upon  himself,  and  the  punishment  which  will  come  is  just 
and  deserved.  For  his  life  has  been  bad  and  his  pamphlets 
wanton.  "But  I  thanke  God,"  he  says,  —  the  old  journalism 
instinct  reviving,  the  pride  in  work  accomplished,  the  desire 
to  advertise  his  wares  —  "that  he  put  it  in  my  head  to  lay 
open  the  most  horrible  coosenages  of  the  common  Conny- 
catchers,  Cooseners,  and  Crosbiters,  which  I  have  indif- 
ferently handled  in  those  my  several  discourses  already 
imprinted."*" 

We  may  summarize  this  chapter  briefly.  Its  subject 
Sero  sed  serio  is  applicable  to  all  the  works  herein  discussed. 
But  those  works  are  of  two  kinds.  Never  too  Late  and 
Francescos  Fortunes,  Mourning  Garment,  Groatsworth  of  Wit, 
are  prodigal-son  stories;  Farewell  to  Follie  is  a  didactic 
narrative  of  the  frame-work  kind.  Greene's  Vision  is  an 
account  of  the  repentance  which  inaugurated  the  series.  All 
of  these  works  I  have  not  considered  as  different  in  any 
respect  from  the  writings  prepared  before  1590.  In  the 
second  class  are  the  last  few  pages  of  Groatsworth  of  Wit 
and  the  Repentance. 

It  is  not  unlike  calling  an  actor  before  the  final  curtain 

just  after  we  have  seen  him  die  in  the  tragedy,  to  continue  a 

discussion  of  Greene's  works  after  we  have  witnessed  the 

death-scene.     But  the  actor,  even  if  we  are  a  little  startled 

"  Vol.  XII.,  p.  178. 


SERO    SED    SERIO  81 

to  realize  it,  is  just  as  much  alive  as  ever.  So  for  our  pur- 
poses, Greene  is  still  alive  and  writing.  In  the  latter  half 
of  1590  he  began  that  division  of  his  works  which  deals  in 
one  way  or  another  with  repentance.  By  the  end  of  the 
next  year  he  had  adopted  a  new  motto  —  ''We  are  born  for 
the  good  of  our  country." 


CHAPTER  IV 
NASCIMUR   PRO   PATRIA 

In  1591  Greene  began  a  series  of  social  pamphlets  which, 
at  very  short  intervals,  continued  to  appear  for  several 
months.  The  first  of  these,  A  Notable  Discovery  of  Coosnage, 
was  licensed  December  13.  In  that  year  also,  and  licensed 
the  same  day,  appeared  another,  The  Second  Part  of  Conny- 
catching,  with  still  a  Thirde  and  last  Part,  entered  on  the 
Stationers'  Register,  February  7,  1592.  Later  were  published 
the  Disputation  Betweene  a  Hee  and  a  Shee  Conny-Catcher, 
the  Quippe  for  an  Upstart  Courtier,  July  21,  and  the  Blacke 
Bookes  Messenger,  August  21.  This  list  should  include,  too, 
The  Defence  of  Conny  Catching,  April  21,  concerning  the 
authorship  of  which  there  has  been  some  discussion. 

These  pamphlets  may,  on  account  of  their  differences  in 
social  significance  and  depth,  be  divided  into  two  groups; 
one  group  containing  the  Disputation  and  the  Quippe,  the 
other  containing  the  rest  of  the  works  enumerated  above. 

Of  the  pamphlets  which  constitute  the  second,  and  larger, 
group,  the  three  parts  of  conny-catching  belong  together. 
Rather,  it  should  be  said  that  the  Notable  Discovery  and  the 
Second  Part  belong  together,  and  that  the  Thirde  Part  is 
really  only  a  sort  of  appendix. 

The  Notable  Discovery  of  Coosnage,  the  first  of  the  series, 
opens  with  an  epistle  of  eight  pages  "To  the  Reader,"  in 
the  course  of  which  Greene  tells  of  his  plan  to  expose  the 
deceits  practised  upon  "yong  gentlemen,  Marchants,  Appren- 
tises,  Farmers,  and  plain  Countreymen"  by  the  conny- 
catchers,  the  sly  confidence  men  of  the  Capital.     There  are 

82 


NASCIMUR   PRO    PATRIA  83 

two  chief  abuses  in  London:  the  art  of  conny-catching, 
deceit  at  cards;  and  the  art  of  cross-biting,  or  the  extortion 
of  money  from  victims  by  the  pretended  (or  real)  husbands  of 
the  courtezans.  Greene  gives  a  brief  account  of  the  origin 
of  card-playing,  speaks  of  the  evils  done  to  innocent  persons 
by  the  cheaters  at  cards,  and  develops  his  Epistle  with  an 
explanation  of  the  old  Barnard's  Law,^  or  the  process  of 
cheating  at  cards.  The  body  of  the  pamphlet  consists  of 
setting  forth  the  art  of  conny-catching  (a  retelling  in  different 
terms  of  the  Barnard's  Law)  illustrated  by  two  tales;  and 
of  the  manner  in  which  the  city  harlots  aid  in  "  cros-biting " 
the  silly  connies,  together  with  the  story  of  a  victim  who 
turned  the  tables.  The  exposure  of  these  two  vices  was  not 
quite  enough  to  fill  up  the  pamphlet.  In  conclusion,  then, 
there  is  the  exposure  of  a  deceit  in  no  way  related  to  the 
other  two,  the  evil  practices  of  the  sellers  of  coals,  illustrated 
by  two  tales. 

The  Second  Part  contains  the  "discovery  of  certaine 
wondrous  coosenages,  either  superficiallie  past  over  or 
utterlie  untoucht  in  the  first."  ^  It  reveals  the  Prigging 
Law  (horse-stealing),  the  Vincents  Law  (deceit  at  bowling), 
a  discussion  of  the  Nip  (who  cuts  purses)  and  the  Foist  (who 
steals  with  his  hand) ,  the  Lifting  Law  (larceny) ,  the  Courbing 
Law  (hooking  linen  out  of  windows),  and  the  Blacke  Arte 
(picking  of  locks).  The  pamphlet  contains  nine  tales. 
The  Thirde  Part  consists  entirely  of  tales  of  deceit,  the  tales 
being  ten  in  number. 

Greene  sets  forth  the  purpose  of  these  works  with  con- 
siderable ostentation.  His  title-pages  are  no  longer  bespread 
with  the  Omne  tulit  punctum  of  the  romances,  or  the  Sero 
sed  serio  which  announced  the  repentance  of  the  prodigal 

^  "There  was  before  this  many  yeeres  agoe  a  practise  put  in  use 
by  such  shifting  companions,  which  was  called  the  Barnard's  Law." 
Vol.  X.,  p.  9.  2  Title-page  to  the  Second  Part,  Vol.  X. 


84  ROBERT   GREENE 

son.  There  is  instead  the  patriotic  —  but  not  for  that 
reason,  the  less  shrewd  —  Nascimur  'pro  patria.  Not  con- 
tent with  printing  the  motto  on  the  title-page,  twice  within 
the  Notable  Discovery  itself  Greene  wishes  a  most  unhappy 
end  to  these  ''base  and  dishonest  caterpillars."  He  bids  us 
farewell,  shouting  as  he  goes,  vauntingly,  loudly  that  all  may 
hear,  his  new  found  battle-cry.^ 

The  statement  of  the  patriotism  which  inspired  the  social 
pamphlets  is  repeated  in  the  preface  to  the  reader, 

"those  mad  fellowea  I  learned  at  last  to  loath,  by  theu-  owne  graceless 
villinies,  and  what  I  saw  in  them  to  their  confusion,  I  can  forewarne 
in  others  to  my  countries  commodity."  * 

It  may  be  very  true  as  Dr.  Wolffs  says  of  such  statements  as 
these  that  Greene  "believed  that  he  was  rendering  a  public 
service,"  and  that  he  was  carrying  on  the  ideal  of  the  human- 
ists that  it  is  the  business  of  a  writer  to  serve  the  State. 
But  I  do  not  think  that  we  do  well  to  say  much  about  the 
humanitarian  purpose  of  these,  or  any  other  of  Greene's 
works.  In  the  case  of  his  fiction,  Greene  was  quite  as  much 
—  even  more  —  interested  in  the  production  of  what  would 
sell  as  of  what  would  edify.  The  two  aims  may  have  hap- 
pened sometimes  to  coincide.  But  the  fact  that  Greene  tells 
us,  and  insists,  that  he  means  to  edify  cannot  hinder  our 
notion  that  at  heart  he  was  first  of  all  a  pamphleteer  for 
profit.  So  with  these  social  tracts.  Greene  may  have  been 
patriotic.  There  is  no  incompatibility,  necessarily,  between 
patriotism  and  journalistic  instinct.  What  I  am  saying, 
and  here  I  agree  most  fully  with  Mr.  W.  W.  Greg,^  is  that  the 

5  Vol.  X.,  pp.  36,  50. 

*  Vol.  X.,  p.  6.  Also  p.  69,  "no  pains  nor  danger  too  great  that 
groweth  to  the  benefit  of  my  countrie;"  p.  97,  "so  I  may  profit  my 
countrimen."     Also  Preface  to  the  Third  Part. 

5  Eng.  Stud.,  p.  337,  Vol.  37. 

9  Modern  Lang.  Rev.,  April,  1906,  Vol.  I.,  p.  241. 


NASCIMUR   PRO    PATRIA  85 

avowed  intention  for  writing  the  conny-catching  pamphlets 
is  not  to  be  regarded  too  seriously  J 

The  relation  between  the  Notable  Discovery  and  the  Second 
Part  will  illustrate  my  statement.  In  the  first,  as  we  have 
seen,  Greene  tells  us  of  his  plan  to  expose  the  wicked  arts  of 
conny-catching  and  of  cross-biting.  In  the  second,  he  carries 
on  the  exposure  of  other  cheating  practices,  most  of  which 
are  announced  in  the  Notable  Discovery  (p.  51).  But  there 
are  too,  in  this  Second  Part,  references  which  have  nothing  to 
do  with  the  exposures.  These  are  the  references  to  Greene 
himself  and  to  the  first  pamphlet.  The  trade,  Greene  says, 
is  "greatlie  impoverished  by  the  late  editions  of  their  secret 
villanies"  (p.  88).  A  prospective  conny  avoids  the  snare 
with  "Maisters,  I  bought  a  booke  of  late  for  a  groate  that 
warnes  me  of  Card-playing.  ...  I  have  forsworne  cards 
ever  since  I  read  it"  (p.  89).  Not  long  afterward,  a  man 
who  had  been  cozened  chanced  to  come  to  Greene's  chamber, 
"where  he  found  a  book  of  Cony-catching  new  come  out 
of  the  presse.  .  .  .  Sir,  said  he,  If  I  had  seene  this  booke 
but  two  dayes  since,  it  had  saved  me  nine  pound  in  my 
purse"  (p.  96). 

Greene  answers  the  objection  "that  some  inferred  against 
me,  which  was,  that  I  shewed  no  eloquent  phrases,  nor  fine 
figurative  conveiance  in  my  first  booke  as  I  have  done  in 
other  of  my  workes"  (p.  71).*     And  finally  he  refers  to  the 

^  Harman  tells  us  on  the  title-page  of  his  Caveat  or  Warning,  for 
Commen  Cursetors  (1566?  1567)  that  he  is  writing  "for  the  utilitie  and 
proffyt  of  his  naturall  Countrey."  And  again  he  says  in  his  epistle 
"To  the  Reader"  that  "faithfullye  for  the  proflfyt  and  benyfyt  of  my 
countrey  I  have  don  it."  {The  Rogues  and  Vagabonds  of  Shakespeare's 
Youth,  Ed.  by  Viles  and  Furnivall.  Shakespeare  Library  1907.) 
Greene  has  several  similarities  to  Harman. 

8  In  the  failure  to  use  "eloquent  phrases"  Greene  resembles  Harman 
when  he  wrote  the  Caveat.  "Although,  good  Reader,  I  wright  in  plain 
termes  —  and   not   so   playnly   as   truely  —  concerning   the   matter, 


86  ROBERT   GREENE 

threats  that  have  come  to  him  from  the  conny-catchers  that 
they  will  "cut  off  my  right  hand,  for  penning  doune  their 
abhominable  practises:  but  alas  for  them,  poore  snakes, 
words  are  wind,  &  looks  but  glances:  every  thunderclap 
hath  not  a  bolt,  nor  every  Conny-catchers  oath  an  execution. 
I  live  still,  &  I  live  to  display  their  villanies"  (p.  70).^ 

All  these  references  to  the  first  pamphlet  sound  perfectly 
natural,  appearing  as  they  do  in  the  second;  and  we  are 
really  led  to  believe  that  Greene's  works  were  making  con- 
siderable of  a  stir  and  that  he  himself  was  manifesting  much 
bravery  to  continue  in  such  dangerous  revelations  of  the 
underworld.  But  our  belief  in  the  genuineness  of  the  whole 
performance  is  considerably  shattered  when  we  remember 
that  in  all  probability  the  Notable  Discovery  and  the  Second 
Part  were  published  at  the  same  time,^°  and  that  the  refer- 

meaning  honestly  to  all  men,  and  wyshe  them  as  much  good  as  to  myne 
owne  harte;  yet,  as  there  hathe  been,  so  there  is  nowe,  and  hereafter 
wylbe,  curyous  heds  to  finde  fauttes:  —  well,  this  delycat  age  shall 
have  his  tyrne  on  the  other  syde.  Eloquence  have  I  none;  I  never 
was  acquainted  with  the  muses;  I  never  tasted  of  Helycon.  But 
accordinge  to  my  plaine  order,  I  have  set  forth  this  worke,  simplye 
and  truelye,  with  such  usual  words  and  termes  as  is  amongst  us  wel 
known  and  frequented."     (Ed.  Viles  and  Furnivall,  1907,  pp.  27-8.) 

Greene's  reason  for  the  simple  style  is  different  from  Harman's. 
Whereas  Harman  declared  himself  unable  to  use  any  other,  Greene  had 
already  manifested  repeatedly  his  ability  to  do  so.  His  reply  to  the 
objection  made  against  him  is  that  he  thinks  a  "certaine  decorum  is 
to  bee  kept  in  everie  thing,  and  not  to  applie  a  high  stile  in  a  base 
subject:  .  .  .  Therefore  humbly  I  crave  pardon  and  desire  I  may 
write  basely  of  such  base  wretches."     (Vol.  X.,  p.  71.) 

9  Cf.  Harman,  p.  22.  "Now,  me  thinketh,  I  se  how  these  pevysh, 
perverse,  and  pestilent  people  begyn  to  freat,  fume,  sweare,  and  stare 
at  this  my  booke,  their  lyfe  being  laid  open  and  apparantly  poynted 
out,  that  their  confusion  and  end  draweth  one  a  pase." 

1"  Both  works  were  licensed  13  Dec,  1591.  Both  bear  the  date 
1591  on  their  title-pages.  And  they  were  put  out  by  different  publishers. 
It  is  only  reasonable,  then,  to  suppose  that  both  were  written  about 


NASCIMUR   PRO    PATRIA  87 

ences  to  the  former  are,  therefore,  most  hkely  pure  fictions. 
This  theory  is  borne  out  by  the  mention  near  the  end  of  the 
Notable  Discovery ^^  of  several  of  the  "laws"  exposed  in  the 
Second  Part, —  as  if  the  Second.  Part  were  already  planned  but 
there  was  found  to  be  room  for  "legering"  (cheating  with 
coal)  in  the  Notable  Discovery  —  and  further  by  Greene's 
manner  of  speaking  of  the  threats  and  the  conny-catchers. 
In  the  epistle  "To  the  Reader"  of  the  Notable  Discovery 
Greene  "foresees"  the  danger  that  will  come  to  him  from 
his  exposures.  "Yet  Gentlemen  am  I  sore  threatened 
by  the  hacksters  of  that  filthie  facultie,  that  if  I  set 
their  practises  in  print,  they  will  cut  off  that  hande 
that  writes  the  Pamphlet,"  ^^  a  statement  in  no  wise 
different  from  that  in  the  Second  Part  as  follows:  "I  know 
I  shall  have  many  braves  uttered  against  me  for  this 
invective."  ^^ 

Greene,  viewed  in  this  light,  is  not,  then,  a  patriotic 
champion  ready  to  die  for  a  cause.     He  is  a  self-advertising 

the  same  time,  inasmuch  as  by  7  Feb.,  1592,  Greene  had  the  Thirdeand 
last  Part  on  the  market. 

"  Vol.  X.,  p.  51.     "I  omitted  divers  other  divehsh  vices;  as  the 
natm-e  of  the  lift,  the  black  art  &." 
12  Vol.  X.,  p.  12. 

1'  Vol.  X.,  p.  97.  Again  like  Harman.  See  above,  note  9.  See 
also  Audeley,  The  Fraternitye  of  Vacabondes.  Ed.  Viles  and  Furnivall, 
p.  2. 

"But  if  my  fellowes  do  know  (sayd  he) 
That  thus  I  dyd,  they  would  kyll  me." 

The  Printer  to  the  Reader. 

Greene  has  another  point  of  similarity  to  Harman.  Harman  unites, 
he  says,  for  the  benefit  of  the  thieves  as  well  as  of  the  country.  He 
hopes  that  "in  the  world  to  com  they  may  save  their  Soules"  so  that 
his  writing  "shall  do  them  more  good  than  they  could  have  devised  for 
them  selves."  (p.  22).  Greene  puts  it  thus:  "Were  it  not  that  I  hope 
for  their  amendment,  I  would  in  a  schedule  set  doune  the  names  of 
such  coosening  cunny-catchers."     Vol.  X.,  p.  12. 


88  ROBERT   GREENE 

journalist.^*  This  is  not  at  all  to  be  severe  on  him,  or  even 
disparaging.  What  it  means  is  that  our  conception  of 
Greene  must  be  less  serious.  Although  the  conny-catching 
pamphlets  do  lose  some  of  their  sociological  value,  their  inter- 
est is  not  lessened.  Instead  of  regarding  their  author  as  an 
ardent  defender  of  the  common  weal,  we  are  to  enjoy  him  as 
a  literary  artificer.  Two  smaller  pamphlets  —  a  First  and 
a  Second  Part  —  sold  to  two  publishers  would  bring  more 
than  a  larger  pamphlet  put  out  by  one  man. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  seriousness  with  which 
Greene's  conny-catching  pamphlets  have  been  regarded  has 
come  partly  at  least  from  certain  statements  of  his  in  the 
earlier  works,  statements  which  have  been  interpreted  as 
meaning  that  Greene  had  long  contemplated  the  writing  of 
these  disclosures.^*  The  whole  question  of  the  understand- 
ing of  these  passages  is,  of  course,  bound  up  with  the  ques- 
tion of  the  1590  religious  experience  spoken  of  in  the  Vision. 
That  question  cannot  be  taken  up  here.^^  But  so  far  as  these 
passages  and  the  conny-catching  pamphlets  are  concerned, 
I  can  see  no  reason  for  thinking  that  there  is  any  definite 
relation  between  them. 

In  the  first  place,  the  promise  of  ''deeper  matters" does  not, 
perhaps,  mean  anything  more  than  a  conventional  phrase." 

"  The  putting  out  of  the  conny-catching  pamphlets  with  their  dis- 
play of  patriotism  is  not  the  first  time  in  Greene's  life  that  he  adapted 
himself  to  the  occasion.  In  1585  when  he  put  out  the  Planelomachia 
he  was  "Student  in  Phisicke."  In  1589,  when  any  pamphlet  with 
"Spanish"  in  its  title  would  sell,  Greene  was  on  hand  with  his  Spanish 
Masquer  ado  under  the  pretext  of  adventuring  "to  discover  my  con- 
science in  Religion." 

^^  See  Greene,  ed.  Dickinson,  Mermaid  Series,  1909,  Introduction, 
p.  xxvii.  '®  See  pp.  70-71. 

''  See  above,  pp.  69-72.  Also  A  Petite  Pallace  of  Pettie  His  Pleasure, 
Ed.  by  Gollancz,  p.  7.  "Thus  have  I  sent  you  in  that  book  some 
fruits  of  my  former  folly,  and  in  this  letter  the  profession  of  my  present 
faith.  ...  I  mean  .   .   .  the  next  Spring  to  go  on  pilgrimage." 


NASCIMUR   PRO   PATRIA  89 

In  the  second  place,  it  does  not  seem  reasonable  to  think 
that  if  Greene  had  had  definitely  in  mind  the  task 
of  writing  exposures  he  would  have  continued  putting  out 
pamphlets  for  which  he  had  to,  or  at  least  did,  apologize. 
It  is  possible,  to  be  sure,  that  the  prodigal  stories  sold 
better  than  he  anticipated,  and  that  he  was  keeping  the 
conny-catching  pamphlets  in  reserve.  But  it  does  not  seem 
likely,  from  what  we  know  of  Greene,  that  he  would  have 
waited  for  a  year  and  a  half  (from  the  middle  of  1590  when 
he  first  promised  to  do  serious  writing  until  the  end  of  1591) 
to  put  into  effect  an  idea  which  had  suggested  to  him  a  new 
line  of  work. 

Another  consideration  which  causes  me  to  think  that  the 
conny-catching  pamphlets  were  written  as  a  journalistic 
venture  purely,  and  not  that  they  were  written  because 
Greene  had  definite  information  to  convey  in  regard  to  the 
dangerous  practices  of  the  metropolis  is  the  fact  that  the 
inspiration  of  conny-catching,  apparently,  (and  the  material, 
certainly)  came  from  a  little  pamphlet  published  in  England 
a  good  many  years  before.  This  pamphlet  was  the  Manifest 
Detection  of  Dyce  Play  (1552),  from  which,  to  be  brief, 
Greene  got  all  he  knew  about  cheating  at  cards.  In  his 
Epistle  to  the  Reader,  Greene  copies  verbatim  two  pages  from 
the  earlier  pamphlet,  the  very  important  passage,  that  is,  in 
which  the  modus  operandi  of  the  Barnard's  Law  is  ex- 
plained.^*    This  old  Barnard's  Law  of  the  Manifest  Detec- 

^'  Barnard's  Law:  —  Four  persons  are  required,  the  Taker-up,  the 
Verser,  the  Barnard,  and  the  Rutter.  The  Taker-up  makes  the 
acquaintance  of  the  victim  and  draws  him  to  a  tavern.  With  him  goea 
the  Verser,  who  hath  "the  countenaunce  of  a  landed  man."  They  all 
sit  down.  In  comes  the  Barnard,  like  an  old  farmer.  The  Barnard 
teaches  the  Verser  a  "new"  card  game  he  has  just  learned.  They 
begin  to  play  for  money.  If  the  victim  "smoake  them"  and  starts 
away,  the  Rutter  creates  a  disturbance.  A  crowd  gathers,  and  the 
Barnard  steals  away  with  all  the  money. 


90  ROBERT   GREENE 

tion  constitutes  without  change,  except  in  very  minor 
details,^^  Greene's  art  of  conny-catching  in  the  Notable  Dis- 
covery, and  forms  the  basis  of  the  long  and  "pleasant  tale  of 
the  connie-catchers " -"  in  the  Second  Part.  Mum-chance, 
the  only  game  mentioned  in  Greene,  is,  in  other  words,  copied 
from  a  pamphlet  forty  years  old. 

From  the  Manifest  Detection,  Greene  copies  also  the 
passage  2^  regarding  the  use  of  the  word  "law"  among  the 
members  of  the  underworld  and  the  passage  ^^  in  which  a 
conny-catcher  refuses  conversion  on  the  ground  that  no 
man  can  live  honestly.  Such  borrowings  as  these,  in  addi- 
tion to  that  spoken  of  above,  show  very  definitely  where 
the  impulse  to  write  conny-catching  pamphlets  came  from, 

^8  The  principal  change  is  in  the  names  of  the  persons  taking  part. 
The  following  extract  from  Rowlands  is  of  considerable  interest  in 
this  connection  as  showing  that  the  names  for  these  parties  either 
were  numerous  at  any  one  time  or  changed  from  year  to  year:  "There 
hath  beene  of  late  dales  published  two  merrie  and  pithie  Pamphlets 
of  the  arte  of  Conicatching:  wherin  the  Author  hath  sufficiently 
expressed  his  experience,  as  also  his  loue  to  his  Countrie.  Neuerthe- 
lesse  with  the  Authors  leaue,  I  will  ouerlooke  some  lawe  tearmes  ex- 
pressed in  the  first  part  of  Conicatching:  whereunto,  as  the  Author 
saith,  is  necessarilie  required  three  parties:  The  setter,  the  Verser  and 
the  Barnacle.  Indeed  I  haue  heard  some  retainers  to  this  ancient 
trade  dispute  of  his  proceedings  in  this  case  and  by  them  in  a  full  Synode 
of  quart  pots  it  was  thorowlie  examined  and  concluded,  that  there 
were  no  such  names  as  he  hath  set  downe,  nor  anie  cheating  Arte  so 
christened  as  Conicatching.  .  .  .  But  all  this  breakes  no  square,  so 
long  as  we  concurre  in  eodem  subiecto."  Greenes  Ghost  haunting  Coni- 
catchers,  1602.     Rowlands'  Works,  Vol.  I.,  p.  7.     Hunterian  Club. 

2"  Vol.  X.,  p.  91.  I  do  not  accept  Mr.  Aydelotte's  discussion  of 
Greene's  borrowing.  "In  so  far  as  Greene  has  a  literary  original  for 
his  conny-catching  books,  it  is  this  pamphlet."  (p.  120).  .  .  .  "These 
plagiarisms  are  all  in  comparatively  unimportant  passages"  (p.  125). 
Oxford  Historical  and  Literary  Studies,  Vol.  I.,  Elizabethan  Rogues 
and  Vagabonds.     By  Frank  Aydelotte. 

=1  Vol.  X.,  p.  33. 

22  Vol.  X.,  pp.  34^5. 


NASCIMUR   PRO    PATRIA  91 

and  make  me  disinclined  to  believe  that  they  were  the 
outcome  of  any  long  premeditation.^ 

In  connection  with  the  question  of  the  attitude  which 
we  are  to  take  toward  these  pamphlets  of  Greene's  there 
is  still  another  point  to  be  borne  in  mind.  That  is  his  boast 
of  the  accuracy,  and  directness  of  the  sources,  of  his  informa- 
tion.    We  may  hear  Greene's  own  words: 

"Though  I  haue  not  practised  their  deceits,  yet  conuersing  by- 
fortune,  and  talking  uppon  purpose  with  such  copes-mates,  hath 
geuen  mee  light  into  their  conceipts,  and  I  can  decipher  their  qualities, 
though  1  utterly  mislike  of  their  practises."-^ 

For  such  insistence  upon  the  truth  of  his  writing  Greene 
may  very  well  have  gotten  the  hint  from  a  work  like  Har- 
man's  Caveat  or  from  Lodge's  Alarum  against  Usurers,  of 
which  the  authors  say  that  what  they  write  is  direct,  the 
information  of  the  former  obtained  from  the  beggars  with 
whom  he  talked  at  his  gate,-^  that  of  the  latter  from  personal 
observation  or  the  testimony  of  victims.^^    Whether  these 

2'  The  haphazard  manner  in  which  the  Second  Part  is  put  together 
is  another  indication  of  haste.  ^*  Vol.  X.,  p.  6. 

2*  "I  .  .  .  have  kepte  a  house  these  twenty  yeares,  where  unto 
poverty  dayley  hath  and  doth  repayre,  not  without  some  reliefe,  as 
my  poore  callinge  and  habylytie  maye  and  doth  extender  1  have  of 
late  yeares  gathered  a  great  suspition  that  all  should  not  be  well. 
...  I,  havinge  more  occation,  through  sicknes,  to  tary  and  remayne 
at  home  then  I  have  bene  accustomed,  do,  by  my  there  abydinge, 
talke  and  confere  dayly  with  many  of  these  wyly  wanderers  ...  by 
whom  I  have  gathered  and  understand  their  depe  dissimulation."  Ed. 
Viles  and  Furnivall,  p.  20. 

^^  "What  is  sette  downe  heere,  eyther  as  an  eye  witnesse  I  will 
avowe,  or  informed  even  by  those  Gentlemen,  who  have  swallowed 
the  Gudgen."     Lodge.     Hunterian  Club.      Vol.  I. 

There  are  many  points  of  similarity  between  Lodge's  Alarum  against 
Usurers  and  such  works  as  the  Manifest  Detection  and  Greene's  conny- 
catching  pamphlets,  particularly  in  the  manner  in  which  a  victim  is 
first  approached. 


92  ROBERT   GREENE 

two  men  are  truthful  it  is  not  for  us  to  inquire.  My  belief 
in  regard  to  Greene  is  that  he,  taking  his  attitude  from  them 
and  pretending  to  be  a  personal  observer,  is  not  necessarily 
so, —  from  anything  that  Greene's  pamphlets  indicate. 

When  one  examines  closely,  one  finds  that  there  is  really 
very  little  in  Greene's  first  three  social  pamphlets  which  is 
in  the  nature  of  information,  and  that  there  is  a  gradual 
progression  in  the  amount  of  the  narrative  portion  through- 
out the  series.  The  Notable  Discovery  has  a  comparatively 
small  number  of  tales,  the  Second  Part  increases  the  number, 
and  the  Thirde  Part  consists  entirely  of  stories,  —  with  no 
new  "laws"  added  whatever. 

The  increase  in  the  number  of  included  tales  is  an  indication 
that  in  his  conny-catching  pamphlets  Greene  has  done  the 
same  thing  that  he  did  in  many  of  his  earlier  works.  Just 
as  in  Perymedes,  for  example,  where  he  starts  out,  avowedly, 
to  show  us  how  to  spend  our  time  in  quiet,  but  where  he 
becomes  more  interested  in  his  illustrative  stories  than  in 
his  frame-work  and  develops  them  for  their  own  fiction's 
sake,  so  here  in  these  pamphlets  he  grows  to  be  interested 
in  telling  snappy  tales  which  are  justified  by  their  own 
vivacity  and  narrative  excellence.  Harman,  for  all  his 
sociological  insight,  enjoyed  telling  the  few  tales  he  has 
included,^'  and  he  told  them  well.  It  was  characteristic 
of  the  whole  type  of  pamphleting  to  include  tales.^*  But 
Greene  carries  the  idea  farther  than  it  had  been  carried  before 
and  farther  than  it  was  carried  after.  That  is,  in  a  sense, 
the  conny-catching  pamphlets  come  in  his  hands  to  be  a 
series  of  frame-work  tales. 

To  say  this  is  putting  it  too  strongly,  of  course.     Greene 

"  Especially  those  on  pp.  37,  42,  61,  68,  of  his  Caveat,  Ed.  Viles 
and  Furnivall. 

^  See  Lodge's  Alarum  against  Usurers  and  the  works  of  Rowlands 
and  Dekker. 


NASCIMUR   PRO    PATRIA  93 

did  have  a  certain  body  of  information  to  convey.  But 
that  information  does  not  seem,  of  necessity,  to  have  been 
obtained  from  direct  knowledge.  Indeed,  it  does  not  seem 
to  have  been  obtained  so  at  all.  If  Greene  were  as  well 
acquainted  with  the  vices  of  London  as  he  would  have  us 
believe,  we  are  at  a  loss  to  understand  why  it  is  that  he 
knows  only  one  "cheating  law,"  and  why  he  should  have 
copied  that  one  law  verbatim  in  one  portion  of  his  pamphlet 
and  have  merely  varied  it  slightly  in  others.  And  again, 
one  is  at  a  loss  to  understand  such  passages  as  those  in  the 
foot-note  2^  if  they  do  not  mean  that  Greene  had  no  definite 
information  upon  that  particular  matter.     That  is,  a  man  who 

^  "Were  it  not  I  hope  of  their  amendment  I  would  in  a  schedule 
set  downe  the  names  of  such  coosening  cunny-catchers."  Vol.  X.,  p.  12. 
This  setting  forth  of  names  was  something  which  Greene  was  ever 
threatening  but  which  he  never  performed,  even  when  he  knew  that 
his  recovery  was  hopeless.  The  nearest  he  comes  to  it  is  the  mention 
by  name  of  Lawrence  Pickering  of  Kent  street,  brother-in-law  to  Bull 
the  hangman,  in  whose  house  the  crew  is  accustomed  to  meet  weekly. 
(Harman  describes  the  weekly  meeting.)  But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  there 
is  no  guarantee  that  Lawrence  Pickering  (the  pickpocket)  is  not  a 
fictitious  being 

"by  chance  fel  among  cony-catchers,  whose  names  I  omit,  because 
I  hope  of  their  amendment."  p.  3L 

"Pardon  me  Gentlemen  for  although  no  man  could  better  than 
myself  discover  this  lawe  and  his  tearmes,  and  the  name  of  their 
cheats,  Barddice,  Flats,  Forgers,  Langrets,  Gourds,  Demies,  and  many 
other,  with  their  nature,  and  the  crosses  and  contraries  to  them  upon 
advantage,  yet  for  some  speciall  reasons,  herein  I  will  be  silent." 
These  "tearmes"  are  mentioned,  but  not  explained,  in  the  Manifest 
Detection,  pp.  27-8 

"they  will  straight  spotte  him  (the  horse)  by  sundry  poUicies,  .  .  . 
which  secretes  I  omit,  least  I  shoulde  give  too  great  a  light  to  other  to 
practise  such  lewd  villanies."  p.  77. 

"for  every  sundry  fashion  thay  have  a  sundry  term,  but  I 
am  ignorant  of  their  woords  of  art,  and  therefore  I  omit  them." 
p.  128.  See  other  similar  statements,  Vol.  X.,  pp.  91,  145,  164. 
172. 


94  ROBERT   GREENE 

can  explain  nine  laws  from  his  own  observation  surely  cannot 
be  expected  to  fail  on  the  tenth. 

Greene's  statement  of  accuracy,  "I  have  seen,  but  I  did 
not  participate,"  implies  that,  though  he  may  never  have 
actually  helped  in  conny-catching,  Greene  knew  the  lowest 
classes  of  society  and  led  a  wicked  life  with  those  companions 
who,  he  says,  "came  still  to  my  lodging,  and  then  would 
continue  quaffing,  carousing,  and  surfeting  with  me  all  the 
day  long."^°  But  the  statement  seems  to  imply  also  that 
this  acquaintance  is  the  basis  for  the  disclosures  about  to 
be  made.  I  am  not  going  to  deny,  in  any  way,  that 
Greene's  life  was  not  praiseworthy  and  that  he  did  not  asso- 
ciate with  such  persons  as  those  of  whom  he  speaks.  I  am 
making  no  attempt  to  build  up  Greene's  shattered  reputation. 
I  am  only  asking  whether,  after  all,  we  should  not  deprive 
him,  in  connection  with  these  conny-catching  pamphlets, 
of  the  title  he  lays  claim  to  as  "comrade  of  the  disreputable," 
and  confer  upon  him  another, —  that  of  being  a  "literary 
liar."  In  short,  may  the  "accuracy"  have  been  manufac- 
tured for  the  sake  of  the  verisimilitude  it  then,  and  has  since, 
afforded?  "I  have  shotte,"  Greene  confesses  in  one  of  his 
latest  writings,  "at  many  abuses,  over  shotte  myself e  in 
describing  of  some:  where  truth  failed  my  invention  hath 
stood  my  friend."  ^^ 

What  I  have  said  about  Greene  thus  far  in  the  present 
chapter  has  been  mostly  negative,  in  the  way  of  discarding 
certain  views  which  have  been  held  with  regard  to  him. 
Greene  claims,  and  has  been  considered,  to  be  original,  to 
be  serious,  to  be  patriotic.  I  fail  to  see  wherem  we  can 
justifiably  concede  any  one  of  these  epithets. 

This  portion  of  his  work  which  we  have  been  discussing, 
I  am  aware,  is  usually  thought  of  —  however  little  we  may 

'«  Vol.  XII.,  p.  178. 

^'  Greenes  Fzsion,  To  the  Gentlemen  Readers.    Vol.  XII.,  pp.  195-6. 


NASCIMUR  PRO   PATRIA  95 

agree  to  Greene's  own  description  of  the  rest  of  it  as  the 
offspring  of  Follie  —  as  his  most  genuine,  most  earnest  prod- 
uct. I  formerly  held  this  opinion.  ''Once  into  the  thing," 
I  wrote,  "Greene  goes  to  work  with  zest.  For  the  first  time, 
perhaps,  in  his  life,  he  is  really  in  earnest.  All  his  faculties 
are  awakened,  and  he  enjoys  the  conflict  he  has  on  his 
hands."  ^ 

But  there  is  this  fact  about  a  continued  study  of  Greene. 
The  more  one  knows  of  him,  the  less  one  finds  that  is  sincere, 
that  comes  from  depth  of  character,  from  bigness  of  attitude 
toward  life,  from  definiteness  of  personality  at  all, —  the  less 
one  finds  that  is  in  reality  Greene's ;  the  more  one  finds  that 
is  only  a  new  expression  (and  often  not  very  new  either)  of 
some  one  else's  thought  and  plan  and  purpose. 

The  becoming  aware  of  the  state  of  things  cannot,  how- 
ever, be  called  exactly  a  disillusionment.  For  it  is  not 
disillusionment,  even  when  one  by  one  the  attributions  to 
Greene's  own  originality  grow  smaller  and  smaller,  as 
scholars  investigate  the  sources  of  his  work  and  as  we  cease 
to  be  surprised  when  we  learn  that  a  pamphlet  or  a  plot  we 
thought  to  be  his  is  only  a  copy  or  an  imitation  of  another's. 
It  is  very  necessary,  though,  if  such  a  process  as  that  I 
speak  of  is  not  to  result  in  utter  disregard  for  Greene,  to 
formulate  our  conception  of  him  in  a  way  such  as  will  enable 
us  to  look  beyond  the  mere  borrowing  and  imitating  and  to 
unify  these  various  activities  of  his  and  make  them,  for  all 
their  superficiality,  have  some  significance.  If  we  cannot 
judge  him  on  the  basis  of  a  sober  litterateur,  for  the  reason 
that  he  is,  on  that  basis,  unstable,  intangible,  we  can  at 
least  estimate  him  as  a  man  of  letters  who  sometimes  rose 
almost  to  the  plane  of  artistic  writing,  who  sometimes  fell 
to  the  plane  of  cheap  journalism.  In  this  second  class  I 
should  place  the  pamphlets  we  have  been  discussing.  In 
fact,  I  should  say  that  in  none  of  his  other  work  is  Greene 


96  ROBERT   GREENE 

SO  much  the  charlatan  as  in  these  social  pamphlets  of  the 
first  group. 

We  have  seen  Greene's  methods  and  his  attitude  as  they 
are  revealed  in  the  three  parts  of  conny-catching.  It  is  time 
now  to  turn  to  the  later  works. 

On  April  21,  1592,  there  was  entered  on  the  Stationers' 
Register  ''The  Defense  of  Conny  Catching,  or  A  Confuta- 
tion of  Those  two  injurious  Pamphlets  published  by  R.  G. 
against  the  practitioners  of  many  nimble-witted  and  mys- 
ticall  Sciences.  By  Cuthbert  Cunny-catcher."  The  author 
pretends  to  be  a  "Licentiate  in  Whittington  Colledge,"^^ 
and  promises  to  tell  what  he  has  learned  in  that  place  and  in 
his  subsequent  travels  about  England.  He  is  very  angry,  he 
says,  that  Greene  should  have  omitted  entirely  the  many 
grosser  evils  which  abound  in  London,  and  he  is  going  to 
undertake  the  task  with  which  he  thinks  Greene  should 
have  been  occupied. 

Of  real  exposition,  however,  there  is  very  little  in  the 
book.  Cuthbert  Cunny-catcher  seems  to  have  been  unin- 
terested in  his  subject  itself,  or  else  to  have  had  little  direct 
information  to  convey.  What  knowledge  he  had,  he  gives 
indirectly.  The  bulk  of  the  material  is  comprised  in  six 
stories,  clever  in  themselves,  and  not  different  from  those 

^^  The  author  of  the  Defence  took  the  idea  from  Greene's  mention 
of  Whittington  College  in  the  Preface  to  the  Last  Part.  "In  the  time 
of  king  Henrie  the  fourth,  .  .  .  lived  a  worthie  Gentleman  .  .  . 
called  sir  Richard  Whittington,  the  founder  of  Whittington  Colledge 
in  London."     Vol.  X.,  pp.  139-40. 

From  a  gloss  in  the  margin,  "Newgate  builded  by  one  Whittington," 
it  is  clear  that  he  means  the  Newgate  prison  rebuilt  by  Whittington's 
executors,  and  not  the  Whittington  College  proper  also  estabMshed 
by  his  directions,  which  Greene  had  in  mind  in  the  Last  Part.  (Founded 
1424;  suppressed  1548)  For  article  on  Whittington  see  the  Dictionary 
of  Nat.  Biog.  Whittington  was  the  subject  of  popular  tradition, 
which  may  account  for  the  mention  of  him  here. 


NASCIMUR   PRO    PATRIA  97 

of  the  three  parts  of  conny-catching.  Indeed,  taken  out  of 
the  frame-work  in  which  they  occur,  or  found  in  any  of  the 
other  pamphlets  known  to  be  Greene's,  these  six  tales  would 
pass  readily  for  Greene's  own. 

One  of  them,  the  tale  of  Will  Sommers,  is  an  adaptation  of 
the  old  story  of  the  division  of  a  nut  among  the  disputants 
for  it,  telling  how  the  fool  as  arbitrator  divides  the  nut-shell 
between  two  lawyers,  and  bestows  the  kernel  upon  a  friend 
of  his,  the  "  Yoeman  of  the  Pantry."  Another  is  a  tale  of  a 
usurer  and  of  how  the  wife  of  his  victim  secured  her  revenge; 
one  of  a  miller  and  a  boy  who  discovers  his  trickery;  a  fourth, 
of  a  false  tailor  whose  deceit  is  revealed  by  pretended 
necromancy.  The  remaining  two  deal  with  marriage,  one 
showing  how  a  pauper's  son  under  disguise  manages  to 
marry  a  rich  man's  daughter;  the  other  being  the  story  of  a 
man  in  England  who  has  sixteen  wives,  and  of  the  means 
by  which  he  meets  his  punishment  at  the  hands  of  two  of 
them. 

The  story  of  Will  Sommers,  the  fool,  is  insignificant. 
That  of  the  pauper's  son  is  good  until  near  the  end.  There 
the  story  is  stopped  rather  than  finished,  so  that  the  conclu- 
sion is  far  from  satisfactory.^^  The  other  four  tales  are  of 
some  merit.  They  are  told  with  the  firmness  and  directness 
which  characterize  the  good  examples  of  the  novelle,  and 
they  carry  the  reader  with  them  whether  in  the  spirit  of 
comedy,  as  in  the  stories  of  the  miller  and  of  the  tailor;  or 
of  revenge,  as  in  the  stories  of  the  usurer  and  of  the  man 
with  the  many  wives.  All  four  are  genuinely  interesting; 
all  four  are  told  with  skill. 

For  all  that  the  pamphlet  is  made  up  principally  of  these 

^  At  the  discovery  of  her  new  husband's  estate,  the  "wife  began 
to  weepe,  all  was  dasht,  and  what  she  thought  God  knowes.' '  .  .  .  But 
they  could  not  change  matters;  so  "for  al  that  he  had  the  wench." 
Vol.  XI.,  p.  84. 


98  ROBERT   GREENE 

six  stories,  the  Defence  of  Conny-catching  is,  however,  osten- 
sibly an  attack  upon  Greene.  The  author  brings  a  severe 
charge,  that  Greene  might  have  been  better  employed  with 
exposing  these  great  and  far-reaching  vices  than  with 
writing  against  the  "poore  conny-catchers "  who  are,  when 
the  worst  is  said,  only  as  gnats  compared  to  elephants. 
Cuthbert  is,  therefore,  to  champion  his  fraternity  against 
the  common  enemy. 

He  is  not  a  particularly  valiant  defender.  His  attack  is 
by  no  means  venomous.  The  method  which  he  uses  is  that 
of  shouting  abusive  language  ^^  and  of  hurling  taunts  at 
Greene  because  he  did  not  include  these  very  important 
exposures  in  his  books.^^  The  ardor  he  displays  is  assumed, 
not  genuine.  In  fact,  this  very  quality  of  non-abusiveness 
(clearly  perceivable,  even  beneath  the  show  of  invincible 
hatred),  has  linked  Greene's  own  name  with  the  pamphlet 
under  the  view  that  Greene  and  Cuthbert  Cunny-catcher 
are  one  and  the  same  person. 

Dr.  Grosart  has  included  this  pamphlet  in  his  collection  of 
Greene's  works,^^  but  he  does  not  believe  that  Greene  is  the 
author  of  it.  He  is  positive  in  his  belief.  "The  most  super- 
ficial reading  of  the  clever  'Defence'"  he  says,  "would 
have  shown  that  it  is  against  not  by  Greene." ^^  If  the 
reading  were  superficial  enough,  we  may  grant  that  the 

^*  As  for  example:  "I  meane  to  have  a  bout  with  this  R.  G.  and  to 
give  him  such  a  veny,  that  he  shalbe  afrayd  heereafter  to  disparage 
that  mysticall  science  of  conny-catching."  p.  47. 

"I  cannot  but  wonder  maister  R.  G.  what  Poeticall  fury  made  you 
so  fantasticke,  to  write  against  conny-catchers?  Was  your  brain  so 
barren  that  you  had  no  other  subject?"    p.  49. 

35  "Why  write  you  not  of  these  Conny-catchers  maister  R.  G.?" 
p.  52.  "Was  not  this  Miller  a  Conny-catcher  maister  R.  G.?"  p.  68. 
"I  pray  you  call  you  not  these  fine  witted  fellowes  Conny-catchers 
Maister  R.  G.?"  p.  75. 

^  Vol.  XI.,  pp.  39-104.  "  Vol.  XI.,  p.  40. 


NASCIMUR   PRO    PATRIA  99 

Defence  might  be  so  understood.  But  as  I  have  intimated, 
the  combativeness  is  very  slight  indeed.  To  the  support  of 
Grosart  comes  Prof.  H.  C.  Hart  in  his  notes  on  "Robert 
Greene's  Prose  Works." ^^  Professor  Hart  does  not  believe 
the  attack  upon  Greene  to  be  in  any  way  more  than  sheer 
pretence.  But  he  maintains  that  Greene  is  not  the  author 
of  the  Defence  on  grounds  which  he  believes  to  be  sufficient 
evidence  for  a  decision.  With  the  exception  of  Professor 
Hart's  notes  the  question  of  authorship  has  received  no 
discussion.  It  may  be  worth  while,  therefore,  to  deal  with 
the  problem  here,  for  I  do  not  agree  with  Professor  Hart 
that  the  case  has  been  definitely  settled  against  Greene. 

Professor  Hart  notices  in  the  first  place  that  the  Defence 
is  written  against  "those  two  injurious  Pamphlets,"  when 
there  are  in  reality  "the  three  parts  of  Connie  Catching  and 
the  Disputation."  He  believes  that  the  writer  of  the  Defence 
lumps  the  first  three  as  one,  counting  the  Disputation  as  the 
second.  Without  saying  so,  he  lets  us  infer  that  he  considers 
this  discrepancy  as  an  objection  to  Greene's  authorship.  I 
do  not  see  how  the  reference  to  the  "two"  pamphlets 
rather  than  to  three  or  four  has  anything  to  do  with  the 
question  of  authorship.  But  even  if  it  has,  I  cannot  agree 
to  this  disposition  of  the  pamphlets.  The  Disputation  is 
not  entered  on  the  Stationers'  Register,  but  there  is  no 
reason  for  believing  that  it  was  necessarily  written  before 
April  21,  the  date  of  the  Defence,  and  not  between  that  date 
and  July  21,  the  date  of  the  Quippe.  This  makes  the 
Disputation  and  the  Quippe  contiguous  in  date  as  they  are, 
indeed,  in  significance,  and  leaves  then  only  three  pamphlets 
appearing  before  the  Defence.  But  even  with  these  three, 
there  is  no  difficulty  in  explaining  the  two  on  the  title-page 
of  the  Defence.  Only  the  first  two  parts  contain  exposures 
of  deceits.  The  Last  Part  is  made  up  wholly  of  stories. 
39  Notes  and  Queries.     10th  Ser.  V.,  p.  84,  Feb.  3,  1906. 


100  ROBERT   GREENE 

There  was  thus  no  reason  for  including  the  Last  Part  among 
the  "injurious  pamphlets  published  by  R.  G."  Professor 
Hart's  objection  is,  therefore,  without  value  until  the  date 
of  the  Disputation  is  established.^^ 

If  the  Defence  is  really  by  Greene,  Professor  Hart  expects 
to  find  some  mention  of  it  in  Greene's  later  works.  He  does 
not  give  the  basis  for  his  expectation.  Again  I  find  no  per- 
ceivable relation  between  Greene's  failure  to  mention  the 
Defence  in  his  subsequent  works  and  Professor  Hart's  state- 
ment that  he  did  not  write  it.  The  Quippe  contains  no  men- 
tion of  the  Disputation,  which  certainly  preceded  it.*''  Nor 
does  The  Blacke  Bookes  Messenger,  the  last  of  them  all, 
mention  either  the  Disputation  or  the  Quippe.  Why  should 
Greene's  later  work,  then,  be  expected  to  mention  the 
Defence?  And  what  justification  have  we  for  saying  that 
the  failure  to  do  so  is  an  adequate  basis  of  decision? 

So  far  as  Professor  Hart's  next  point  is  concerned,  that 
of  the  celebrated  reference  to  Greene's  having  sold  the  play 
of  Orlando  Furioso  to  the  Lord  Admiral's  men  while  the 
Queen's  players,  to  whom  he  had  sold  it  earlier,  were  in  the 
country, —  the  failure  on  Greene's  part  to  refute  the  charge 
cannot,  it  seems  to  me,  be  taken  to  prove  that  Greene  did 
not  write  the  Defence.  "No  doubt,"  says  Professor  Hart, 
"every  one  knew  it,  and  it  was  useless  to  attempt  to  do  so." 

''  In  the  Disputation  Greene  mentions  only  the  first  of  the  series. 
"R.  G.  hath  so  amply  pend  them  doune  in  the  first  part  of  Conny- 
catching  "  (Vol.  X.,  p.  206).  Also,  "since  the  setting  out  of  my  booke" 
(p.  236). 

Samuel  Rowlands  mentions  only  two:  "There  hath  beene  of  late 
daies  published  two  merrie  and  pithie  Pamphlets  of  the  arte  of  Coni- 
catching."  Greenes  Ghost  Haunting  Conicatchers.  1602.  Hunterian 
Club,  p.  7. 

*"  The  Quippe  was  licensed  July  21.  Greene's  activities  and  his 
illness  during  the  month  of  August  make  it  impossible  that  the 
Disputation  followed  the  Quippe. 


NASCIMUR  PRO  PATRLi  101 

It  is  quite  as  reasonable  to  believe  that  the  play  was  not  re- 
sold at  all.  We  have  only  Cuthbert  Conny-catcher's  word 
for  it.  May  not  the  reference  be  merely  another  of  the 
kind  used  in  the  Second  Part  to  give  an  air  of  verisimili- 
tude  to   the  attack? 

The  final  objection  to  Greene's  authorship  is  a  list  of 
words  and  phrases  to  be  found  nowhere  else  but  in  the 
Quippe.  The  presence  of  the  words  in  the  Quippe  cannot, 
of  course,  be  taken  as  a  final  argument  either  for  or  against 
Greene's  authorship  of  the  Defence.  If  Greene  had  wanted 
the  words  in  the  Quippe,  he  would  have  taken  them  whether 
the  Defence  were  his  own  or  belonged  to  some  one  else.  But 
as  for  the  Defence,  Professor  Hart  concludes  on  the  basis 
of  this  word  list  that  Greene  did  not  write  it,  saying  that 
"it  was  written  by  some  confederate  or  friend  jointly 
perhaps." 

This  word  list  is  of  considerable  importance.  The  presence 
of  many  of  the  words  in  the  Quippe,  however,  detracts  from 
its  decisiveness.  Greene's  habit  of  miscellaneous  appro- 
priations makes  his  vocabulary  variable.  How  are  we  to 
tell  whether  this  pamphlet  of  the  Defence  was  written  "by 
some  confederate  or  friend"  whose  identity  is  unknown,  or 
by  Greene  himself,  who  interspersed  it  with  words  picked 
up  from  some  unknown  source?  It  is  not  necessary  to 
look  for  these  strange  words  in  Greene's  works  before 
April  21,  1592.  And  when  we  come  to  examine  the  later 
ones,  we  actually  do  find  many  of  the  words  repeated  in 
the  Quippe. 

Professor  Hart  admits  that  the  Defence  is  not  in  reality,  as 
Dr.  Grosart  said  it  was,  against  Greene,  and  that  the  attack 
is  only  a  pretence.  He  thinks  that  perhaps  Greene  had  a 
hand  in  the  production  of  it.  Having  gone  so  far  in  the 
acknowledgment  of  Greene's  authorship,  I  do  not  see  why 
we  cannot  go  the  rest  of   the  way,  at  least   tentatively. 


102  ROBERT   GREENE 

There  are  no  objections  which  can  be  held  with  certainty. 
And  there  are  considerations  which  I  beheve  make  it  more 
reasonable  than  not  to  regard  Greene  as  the  author. 

There  is  a  statement  in  the  Second  Part  which  favors  the 
idea  of  Greene's  authorship. 

"...  they  in  their  huffes  report  that  they  have  got  one  (  )   I 

will  not  bewray  his  name,  but  a  schoUer  they  say  he  is,  to  make  an 
invective  against  me." 

Now  the  Second  Part  was  published  in  1591,  at  the  same  time 
as  the  Notable  Discovery.^^  It  looks  a  little  strange,  there- 
fore, if  Greene  was  not  himself  contemplating  the  writing 
of  the  Defence,  that  he  should  have  known,  in  the  week  or 
two  before  his  pamphlets  had  had  time  to  create  any  appre- 
ciable effect,  that  the  conny-catchers  had  employed  a 
scholar^-  to  come  to  their  defence.  Nor  does  it  seem  at 
all  far-fetched  to  presume  that  Greene  is  taking  the  oppor- 
tunity to  advertise  the  Defence  just  as  he  advertised  a  great 
many  of  his  works  before  and  after,  and  just  as  we  shall 
presently  find  the  author  of  the  Defence  doing.^ 

*•  See  p.  85  seq. 

*^  In  the  Defence  Cuthbert  speaks  of  Greene  as  a  scholar.  "  I  began 
to  enquire  what  this  R.  G.  should  bee.  At  last  I  learned  that  hee  was 
a  scholler,  and  a  Maister  of  Artes."  p.  47.  Greene  was  proud  of  being 
a  "scholler"  and  of  his  "Utriusq.  Academiae  in  Artibus  Magister." 
One  can  easily  infer  that  if  Greene  is  announcing  an  anonymous  work 
by  himself,  he  would  very  naturally  proclaim  it  to  be  by  a  "scholler." 

*^  This  idea  of  advertisements  and  continuations  appealed  to  Greene's 
journalistic  instinct.  After  Pharicles  departed  from  Padua  at  the  end 
of  the  First  Part  of  Mamillia,  "as  soone  as  I  shal  either  hear,  or  learn 
of  his  aboad,"  says  Greene,  "looke  for  newes  by  a  speedy  Post."  The 
"newes"  came,  and  with  it  came  the  Second  Part  of  Mamillia.  It  is 
one  of  the  interesting  things  to  note  in  connection  with  this  idea  of 
continuations  that,  at  the  end  of  the  Second  Part,  Greene  promises 
still  a  Third,  a  promise  not  fulfilled,  so  far  as  we  know.  ("Whether 
Pharicles  proved  as  inconstant  a  husband  as  a  faithless  wooer,  I  knowe 


NASCIMUR   PRO   PATRIA  103 

A  second  consideration  that  connects  Greene  and  the  au- 
thorship is  that  of  certain  similarities  between  the  Defence 
and  Greene's  acknowledged  works.  One  of  these  is  the  identity 
in  tone  between  the  reference  to  the  Notable  Discovery  and 
the  Second  Part  in  the  Defence,  and  the  references  to  the 
Notable  Discovery  in  the  Second  Part.^  A  second  similarity- 
is  that  existing  between  a  passage  in  the  Defence  and  one 
in  the  Disputation;'^^  still  a  third  is  that  between  the  Defence 

not:  but  if  it  be  my  hap  to  heare,  looke  for  newes  as  speedilie  as  may 
be.")  Other  novels  by  Greene  have  this  same  promise  of  continuation, 
sometimes  fulfilled,  sometimes  not:  Morando,  Vol.  III.,  p.  109;  Pen- 
elopes Web,  Vol.  v.,  p.  233  (but  it  is  not  known  what  Greene  means 
by  his  reference  to  the  "Paraphrase");  Perymedes,  Vol.  VII.,  p.  85; 
Never  too  Late,  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  109;  Francescos  Fortunes,  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  229, 
promises  further  news  of  the  palmer;  Farewell  to  Follie,  Vol.  IX.,  p.  348, 
is  sometimes  understood  to  imply  a  continuation. 

The  instinct  for  journalism  which  prompted  these  continuations 
was  also  manifested  in  the  promise  of  other  works  soon  to  appear. 
Thus  in  the  Preface  to  Perymedes,  Greene  speaks  of  Orpharion  to  make 
us  merry  with  at  the  next  term  (Vol.  VII.,  p.  9).  At  the  end  of  Never 
too  Late  (Vol.  VIII.,  p.  109)  he  promises  not  only  a  continuation  in 
Francescos  Fortunes,  but  also  alludes  to  his  Farewell  to  Follie.  The 
Disputation  definitely  promises  the  Blacke  Booke,  Vol.  X.,  pp.  225,  236. 

**  For  example  these  passages: 

1.  "Yet  I  have  for  3.  pence  bought  a  little  Pamphlet,  that 
hath  taught  me  to  smoke  such  a  couple  of  knaves  as  you  be." 
Defence,  p.  45. 

2.  "Maisters,  I  boughte  a  booke  for  a  groate  that  warnes  me 
of  Card-play."     Second  Part,  p.  89. 

See  also  Defence,  p.  47. 
*^  1.     "I  got  one  of  those  bookes  .   .   .  wherein  I  found  our  art 
so  perfectly  anatomized,  as  if  he  had  bene  practitioner  in  our 
facultie  forty  winters  before."     Defence,  pp.  45-6.  i 

2.  "I  need  not  describe  the  lawes  of  villanie,  because  R.^G. 
hath  so  amply  pend  them  downe  in  the  first  part  of  Conny- 
catching,  that  though  I  be  one  of  the  facultie,  yet  I  cannot 
discover  more  than  hee  hath  layde  open."  Disputation, 
p.  206. 


104  ROBERT   GREENE 

and  The  Blacke  Bookes  Messenger^^  And  lastly  there  is 
the  resemblance  between  one  of  the  stories  in  the  Defence 
and  the  story  of  Valdracko  in  Planetomachia.  The  likeness 
may  be  purely  coincidental.  At  any  rate,  Pasylla's  tying 
her  father  to  his  bed  is  repeated  in  the  story  of  the  man 
with  the  sixteen  wives,  two  of  whom  tie  him  to  his  bed  in 
the  same  way. 

The  next  indication  of  Greene's  authorship  of  the  Defence 
is  in  the  method  of  its  conclusion.  The  idea  of  advertising 
a  following  pamphlet  is  carried  out.  "It  is  informed  us," 
says  Cuthbert,  "that  you  are  in  hand  withe  a  booke  named 
The  repentance  of  a  Conny-catcher."  This  work  is  the  same 
as  that  mentioned  in  the  preface  to  The  Blacke  Bookes 
Messenger  which  Greene  had  intended  to  publish  along 
with  the  life  and  death  of  Ned  Browne,  and  which  he  still 
intended  to  put  forth.^^  In  another  respect  the  conclusion 
to  the  Defence  is  interesting.  It  is  marked  by  a  strikingly 
paradoxical  tone.  Throughout  the  work,  the  author  has 
been  professedly  Greene's  bitter  enemy.  At  the  end  he 
urges  Greene  most  heartily  to  publish  this  repentance  he 
has  in  mind.  "If  you  doe  so,  ye  shal  do  not  onely  a  chari- 
table, but  a  meritorious  deed."  And  he  threatens  that  if 
Greene  fails  to  do  so,  he  will  have  the  "crue  of  Conny- 
catchers  sweare  themselves  your  professed  enemies  for  ever." 

**  The  passages  are  about  the  Conny-catchers'  pretended  acquaint- 
ance with  the  Continent,  whereas  they  have  never  been  out  of  England. 
They  are  too  long  to  transcribe.  See  Defence,  pp.  74-5,  and  Blacke 
Bookes  Messenger,  pp.  24-7. 

"  "I  had  thought  to  have  joyned  with  this  Treatise,  a  pithy  discourse 
of  the  Repentance  of  a  Conny-catcher  lately  executed  out  of  Newgate, 
yet  forasmuch  as  the  Methodeof  the  one  is  so  far  differing  from  the  other, 
I  altered  my  opinion,  and  the  rather  for  that  the  one  died  resolute  and 
desperate,  the  other  penitent  and  passionate.  For  the  Conny-catchers 
repentance  which  shall  shortly  be  published,  it  containes  a  passion  of 
great  importance." 


NASCIMUR    PRO    PATRIA  105 

It  may  be  said  in  connection  with  the  Defence  as  a  whole 
that  if  Greene  wished  to  write  another  conny-catching 
pamphlet  he  would  scarcely  have  gone  to  all  this  trouble  of 
posing  as  his  own  enemy,  and  that  he  would  have  put  out  a 
Fourth  Part  or  something  of  that  nature.  Yet  we  have 
only  to  remember  that  in  the  Disputation,  which  we  shall 
discuss  presently,  Greene  actually  does  write  from  the  point 
of  view  of  those  whom  he  is  attacking.  For  in  the  Dis- 
putation, Lawrence  and  Nan  are  quite  as  bitter  against  the 
"scholler"  R.  G.  as  ever  Cuthbert  Conny-catcher  was. 

In  concluding  this  matter  I  should  like  to  call  attention 
to  what  is  apparently  a  step  in  the  Greene-Harvey-Nashe 
quarrel.^^  The  quarrel  was  already  on  its  way  when  Richard 
Harvey  in  1590  published  his  Lamb  of  God  in  which  he 
attacked  Nashe  as  being  impudent.  Then,  as  Mr.  Mc- 
Kerrow  says,  "some  two  years  seem  to  have  elapsed  before 
any  attempt  was  made  by  the  writers  criticised  to  reply."*' 
There  is  no  explanation  for  this  long  silence.  "But  there 
seems  to  be  nothing,"  Mr.  McKerrow  adds,  "in  any  of 
Greene's  works  at  least,  before  the  Quip,  which  can  be 
interpreted  as  a  hit  at  him.  It  is  possible  that  there  were 
intermediate  links  in  the  quarrel,  of  which  we  know  nothing." 
It  is  one  of  these  intermediate  links  that  is  to  be  found  in 
the  Defence. 

"Wert  not  a  merry  jeast  to  have  a  bout  againe  Maister  R.  G.  with 
your  poetical  Brethren:  amongst  the  which  one  learned  Hypocrite, 
that  could  brooke  no  abuses  in  the  Commonwealth,  was  so  zealous 
that  he  began  to  put  an  English  she  Saint  in  the  Legend,  for  the  hoUnesse 
of  her  life :  and  forgot  not  so  much  as  her  dogge,  as  Tobies  was  remem- 
bred,  that  wagged  tayle  at  the  sight  of  his  olde  Mistresse.  This 
pure  Martinist  (if  he  were  not  worse)  had  a  combat  betweene  the  flesh 

^  Mr.  McKerrow,  in  his  edition  of  Nashe  (London  1904-10)  has 
traced  out  in  detail  (Vol.  V.,  pp.  65-110)  the  account  of  this  whole 
wretched  affair. 

«  McKerrow's  Nashe,  Vol.  V.,  p.  77. 


106  ROBERT   GREENE 

and  the  spirite,  that  he  must  needes  have  a  wife,  which  he  cunningly 
conny-catcht  in  this  manner.  A  pleasant  Tale  how  a  holy  brother 
Conny-catcht  for  a  Wife.^" 

The  story  which  follows  of  the  pauper's  son  who  married 
the  rich  man's  daughter  is  no  doubt  fictitious.  But  the 
story  and  the  passage  I  have  quoted  were  meant  in  all 
probability  as  a  slur  upon  the  Harveys,  Richard  in  particular. 
That  this  inference  is  well  grounded  is  shown  by  two  similar 
references  to  Richard  Harvey  in  subsequent  pamphlets: 

1.  "The  best  is,  the  persons  abused,  are  not  altogether  unknowen, 
they  have  not  so  evell  a  neighbor,  that  ever  reade,  or  hearde  those 
opprobrious  villainies  (it  is  too-mild  a  name,  for  my  brother  Richardes 
most  abhominable  Legend,  who  frameth  himselfe  to  live  as  chastely 
as  the  leawde  writer  affected  to  live  beastly)  but  hath  presentlie  broken 
out  into  some  such  earnest,  or  more  passionate  speeches:  o  pestilent 
knavery,  who  ever  heard  such  arrant  forgeries,  and  ranke  lies?" 
Thirds  Letter,  September  8  and  9,  1592.  Harvey,  Ed.  Grosart,  Vol.  I., 
p.  186. 

2.  "It  was  not  for  nothing  brother  Richard,  that  Greene  told 
you  you  kist  your  Parishioners  wives  with  holy  kisses,  for  you  that 
wil  talk  ...  in  a  Theological  Treatise,  and  in  the  Pulpit,  I  am 
afraide  in  a  privater  place  you  will  practise  as  much  as  you  speake. 
.  .  .  Farewell  uncleane  Vicar,  and  God  make  thee  an  honest  man." 
Foure  Letters  Confuted,  January  12,  1593.  Nashe,  Ed.  McKerrow. 
Vol.  I.,  p.  273. 

The  passage  to  which  Nashe  refers  is  no  doubt  the  lost 
passage  in  the  Quippe,^^  in  which  Greene  attacked  all  the 
Harveys  at  once.  It  is  clear  at  any  rate,  that  Greene  did 
accuse  Richard  Harvey  of  loose  living.  My  conviction  is 
that  we  have  here  in  the  Defence,  three  months  before  the 
publication  of  the  Quippe,  the  same  kind  of  attack  (or 
perhaps  the  same  attack)  as  that  which  Nashe  has  in  mind. 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  understood,  in  passing  from  the 
Defence  to  the  last  pamphlet  of  the  first  group,  as  thinking 
«»  Vol.  XI.,  p.  79.  "  Nashe,  Vol.  V.,  p.  77. 


NASCIMUR    PRO    PATRIA  107 

that  the  intrinsic  importance  of  the  Defence  is  entirely 
proportional  to  the  length  of  the  discussion  bestowed  upon 
it.  But  tedious  as  it  is,  such  a  discussion  is  not  without 
value  as  emphasizing  what  I  believe  is  the  method  back  of 
all  of  these  social  pamphlets  of  Greene's.  The  very  fact 
that  there  is  a  problem  of  authorship  connected  with  the 
Defence  only  urges  the  more  strongly  the  idea  that  Greene's 
work  is  not  the  product  of  a  serious,  patriotic  purpose  to 
convey  definite,  accurate  information.  Rather  we  owe  the 
existence  of  the  pamphlets  to  Greene's  necessity.  Nashe 
tells  us  that  "in  a  night  and  a  day"  Greene  would  have 
"yarkt  up  a  Pamphlet  as  well  as  in  seaven  yeare"  .  .  .  and 
this  too  because  "his  only  care  was  to  have  a  spel  in  his 
purse  to  conjure  up  a  good  cuppe  of  wine  with  at  all 
times." ^2     Nashe  knew  Greene  pretty  well. 

The  Blacke  Bookes  Messenger  is  the  last  number  of  the 
first  group.  It  was  licensed  August  21,  1592,  and  was 
published  as  a  substitute,  or  messenger,  for  the  Blacke  Book 
itself  which  was  announced  in  the  Disputation.^^  Greene's 
illness  prevented  his  preparing  the  Blacke  Book,  which  from 
his  account  of  it  in  the  Disputation  was  to  have  contained 
a  full  list  of  the  vices  and  the  names  of  all  the  wrong-doers 
in  the  Capital.  The  Blacke  Bookes  Messenger  was  written 
before  Greene's  fatal  illness  came  upon  him,  and  was  sent 
"as  a  Fayring"  until  such  time  as  Greene  should  have 
recovered. 

In  this  work  Greene  lays  open  "the  Life  and  Death  of 
Ned  Browne,  one  of  the  most  notable  Cutpurses,  Cros- 
biters,  and  Conny-catchers,  that  ever  lived  in  England." 
The  pamphlet  is  in  the  first  person  and  represents  Ned 
Browne  "standing  in  a  great  bay  windowe  with  a  halter 
about  his  necke  ready  to  be  hanged."     Ned  Browne  is  brazen 

s2  Nashe,  Vol.  I.,  p.  287. 
"  Vol.  X.,  pp.  225,  236. 


108  ROBERT   GREENE 

in  the  face  of  death.  He  tells  his  listeners  that  they  need 
not  expect  to  hear  a  repentance,  for  he  will  be  resolute  to 
the  end. 

We  have  an  account  of  Ned's  childhood  and  of  the  virtues 
of  his  parents.  We  are  told  of  how  he  was  always  a  dis- 
obedient son,  and  of  how  he  early  started  on  the  way  to 
villainy,  disregarding  the  advice  of  his  parents,  blaspheming 
God,  and  following  after  the  wickedness  of  the  world.  The 
pamphlet,  only  thirty-seven  pages  in  all,  contains  five  tales 
occupying  twelve  pages  by  which  Ned  illustrates  the  course 
of  his  life.  Now  he  deceives  a  maltman,  now  he  outwits  a 
priest,  now  he  kisses  a  gentlewoman  and  cuts  her  purse, 
now  he  lets  fall  a  key,  and  lastly  he  tells  how  his  wife  was  once 
cross-bitten  in  her  own  art.  Between  the  tales  Ned  mentions 
various  of  his  exploits,  how  he  robbed  a  church,  for  example. 
Having  finished  his  autobiography,  he  springs  out  of  the 
window  and  dies.  After  he  is  buried,  a  company  of  wolves 
come  in  the  night-time,  tear  him  out  of  his  grave,  and  eat 
him  up. 

Greene  evidently  forgets  all  about  Ned's  determination  to 
persevere  in  the  attitude  of  non-repentance  which  he  uttered 
so  boldly  on  the  opening  page  of  the  book.  For  the  cutpurse, 
the  worst  that  ever  lived  in  England,  preaches  a  vehement 
and  orthodox  sermon  just  before  he  leaps  from  the  window.^ 
All  his  defiance  is  gone.  He  would  have  us  trust  not  in  our 
wits,  in  our  strength.  We  are  to  follow  the  good  counsel  of 
our  friends,  harken  to  God's  ministers,  scoff  not  at  the 
magistrates,  beware  of  strange  women,  who  are  the  Sirens 
which  draw  us  on  to  destruction. 

What  a  show  we  have!  Ned  Browne  is  only  a  pup- 
pet, a  mechanical  figure  dressed  up,  with  a  halter  about 
his  neck.     There  he  stands,   totally  without  life,   a  ven- 

"  In  Painter's  tale,  the  Countess  of  Celant  "miserably  and  repent- 
antly died,"  and  asked  the  people  to  pray  for  her. 


NASCIMUR    PRO    PATRIA  109 

triloquist's  doll  whose  mouth  is  pulled  open  and  shut  by- 
strings.  When  the  speech  is  over,  Ned  is  pitched  out. 
But  nobody  cares.  It  was  only  an  entertainment  any- 
how. 

The  quality  of  entertainment  is  characteristic  not  only 
of  The  Blacke  Bookes  Messenger  but  of  the  whole  series. 
We  have  already  pointed  out  that  there  is  in  the  first  three 
pamphlets  a  diminution  in  the  amount  of  information  to 
be  conveyed,  and  an  increase  in  the  amount  of  illustration, 
so  that  the  Last  Part  contains  nothing  else.  The  Defence 
and  The  Blacke  Bookes  Messenger  continue  in  the  same 
kind  of  development,  both  in  the  inclusion  of  tales  and  in  the 
fiction  of  the  frame-work  too.  "Obviously,"  as  Professor 
Chandler  aptly  remarks,  "in  these  pamphlets  Greene  was 
progressing  from  an  account  of  rogues'  tricks  to  the  more 
interesting  business  of  using  rogues  as  anti-heroes  in  fic- 
tion." ^^  Greene,  the  exposer  of  social  vices,  that  is,  had 
little  to  say;  Greene,  the  teller  of  tales,  had  much.  It 
does  not  follow,  as  one  might  think,  that  to  speak  of  Greene's 
conny-catching  pamphlets  as  the  product  of  his  tastes,  and 
necessity  for  journalistic  activity,  is  to  deprive  them  of  their 
importance.  Indeed,  so  speaking  of  them  only  calls  our 
attention  to  the  real  interest,  which  is  not  sociological  but 
dependent  upon  the  illustrative  tales  as  examples  of  Eliza- 
bethan narrative  art. 

The  stories  are  somewhat  allied  to  the  stories  of  the  jest- 
books  so  common  before  and  after  the  time  of  Greene.^^  This 
relation  is  especially  true  in  connection  with  the  emphasis 
upon  the  trick,  the  performance  of  a  clever  deed.  But  Greene's 
collections  are  different  from  these.  They  have  not  the 
unity  to  be  found  in  a  jest-book  like  the  contemporary  Merrie 

'6  The  Literature  of  Roguery,  by  F.  W.  Chandler.     Vol.  I.,  p.  98. 
"  See  Chandler,  Literature  of  Roguery,  Vol.  I.,  p.  59.    Also  Cambridge 
History  of  English  Literature,  Vol.  III.,  for  bibliography. 


110  ROBERT   GREENE 

Conceited  Jests  of  George  Peele,^''  wherein  we  gain  some 
definiteness  of  conception  of  the  roguish  hero;  nor  do  they 
have  the  anecdotic  quality  of  the  earher  collections  like  the 
C.  Mery  Talys  (1526).  There  is  not  in  Greene's  stories  the 
personal  element  of  the  former,  in  that  Greene's  men  and 
women  are  almost  as  uncharacterized  as  the  absence  of  their 
names  indicates;  and  yet  we  are  made  aware  that  the 
crudity,  or  undevelopedness,  of  the  latter  has  disappeared 
under  a  method  of  artistic  handling.  We  are  not  presented 
to  people  in  whom  we  are  interested  for  their  own  sakes. 
At  the  same  time  our  attention  is  not  centered  wholly  upon 
the  event.  I  think  the  reason  for  this  is  the  very  thing  that 
Professor  Chandler  speaks  of,  the  using  of  rogues  as  anti- 
heroes.  So  that  we  do  not  have  from  Greene  a  collection 
of  jests,  but  genuine  fictitious  narrative  of  such  merit  as  to 
mark  a  step  in  the  employment  of  the  anti-heroic  as  a 
subject  for  artistic  treatment. 

Although  Greene  made  some  advance  over  the  jest-book 
by  giving  the  significance  of  a  literary  form  to  his  work, 
he  did  not  produce  anything  which  should  be  called  pica- 
resque romance.  The  tales,  for  the  most  part,  are  complete 
in  themselves,  and  have  no  bearing  upon  any  of  the  tales 
before  or  after  them.  There  is  no  conception  of  unity  in 
Greene's  mind,  no  desire  to  paint  a  roguish  person.  Not- 
withstanding the  fact  that  there  is  present  in  many  of  the 
tales  much  of  the  subtlety  in  the  formulation  of  the  trick 
and  much  of  the  adroitness  in  extrication  from  difficult  places, 
there  is  not  the  breadth  of  view  nor  the  extensiveness  of 
interest  which  characterizes  the  genuine  picaresque.  The 
confession  of  Ned  Browne  is  no  exception. 

The  tales,  then,  are  individual  units  embedded  in  a  frame- 
work either  expository  like   the    first  two  parts  of  conny- 

*^  Entered  in  the  Stationers'  Register  December  14,  1605,  Works 
of  George  Peele,  ed.  Bullen.     Vol.  II. 


NASCIMUR    PRO    PATRIA  111 

catching  and  the  Defence,  or  fictitious  biography  like  that 
of  Ned  Browne.  Or  the  tale  may  have  no  frame-work  at 
all,  like  those  of  the  Thirde  Part.  However  found,  each  must 
be  judged  as  a  unit  on  its  own  basis. 

There  are  about  thirty-five  of  the  tales  scattered  through- 
out the  pamphlets.  Many  of  them  are  very  short,  although 
a  number  run  to  the  length  of  six  or  eight  pages,  or  even  a 
little  more.  Some  are  genuinely  amusing,  and  some  are 
very  clever.  One  or  two  not  in  themselves  humorous  at  all 
are  told  with  such  forced  gusto  that  it  is  the  artificial  gaiety 
we  smile  at  rather  than  the  narratives.  Some  of  them  are 
slight,  and  more  than  one  needs  Greene's  parting  "Let  each 
take  heede  of  dealing  with  any  such  kinde  of  people,"  or 
his  "Let  this  give  them  warning  to  beware  of  any  such 
unprofitable  guests"  to  apologize  for  its  lack  of  weight  and 
to  justify  its  inclusion  in  the  series.  The  truth  is,  that 
Greene  is  sometimes  compelled  to  do  his  manufacturing  out 
of  scant  material. 

Many  of  the  tales  are  good  reading.  The  brevity  of  them 
necessitates  directness  and  clearness.  They  are  unified  in 
idea  and  in  treatment,  for  they  are  by  their  nature  limited 
to  the  telling  of  one  event.  In  style  they  are  simple.  For- 
tunately Greene  conceived  the  proper  language  in  which  to 
write  of  such  base  subjects  to  be  itself  "base"  and  devoid 
of  refinement.  Of  the  thirty-five  stories  as  a  group,  the 
impression  one  gets  is  that  Greene  has  accomplished  satis- 
factorily the  end  he  had  in  mind,  "Let  this  suffice,  and  now 
I  will  recreate  your  wits  with  a  merry  Tale  or  two." 

Here  is  one  of  them: 

"How  a  cunning  knave  got  a  Truncke  well  stuffed  with  linnen  and  cer- 
taine  parcells  of  plate  out  of  a  Citizens  house,  and  how  the  Master  of  the 
house  holpe  the  deceiver  to  carry  away  his  owne  goods. 

Within  the  Cittie  of  London  dwelleth  a  worthy  man  who 
hath  very  great  dealing  in  his  trade,  and  his  shop  very  well 


112  ROBERT   GREENE 

frequented  with  Customers:  had  such  a  shrewd  mischaunce 
of  late  by  a  Conny  catcher,  as  may  well  serve  for  an  example 
to  others  leste  they  have  the  like.  A  cunning  villaine,  that 
had  long  time  haunted  this  Cittizens  house,  and  gotten  many 
a  cheat  which  he  carried  awaye  safely:  made  it  his  custome 
when  he  wanted  money  to  helpe  him  selfe  ever  where  he 
had  sped  so  often:  divers  thinges  he  had  which  were  never 
mist,  especially  such  as  appertained  to  the  Citizens  trade, 
but  when  anye  were  found  wanting  they  could  not  devise 
which  way  they  were  gone,  so  pollitiquely  this  fellow  alwayes 
behaved  him  selfe:  well  knew  he  what  times  of  greatest 
business  this  Cittizen  had  in  his  trade,  and  when  the  shop 
is  most  stored  with  Chapmen:  then  would  he  step  up  the 
staires  (for  there  was  and  is  another  door  to  the  house 
besides  that  which  entreth  into  the  shop)  and  what  was  next 
hand  came  ever  away  with.  One  time  above  the  rest  in  an 
evening  about  Candlemas,  when  daylight  shuts  in  about 
six  of  the  clock,  he  watched  to  do  some  feate  in  the  house, 
and  seeing  the  mistresse  goe  foorth  with  her  maid,  the  good- 
man  and  his  folkes  very  busie  in  the  shop:  up  the  staires 
he  goes  as  he  was  wonte  to  doo,  and  lifting  up  the  latch  of 
the  hall  portall  doore,  saw  nobody  neere  to  trouble  him: 
when  stepping  into  the  next  chamber,  where  the  Citizen 
and  his  wife  usually  lay,  at  the  beds  feete  there  stood  a 
hansome  truncke,  wherein  was  very  good  linnen,  a  faire  guilt 
salte,  two  silver  french  bowles  for  wine,  two  silver  drinking 
pots,  a  stone  Jugge  covered  with  silver,  and  a  dosen  of  silver 
spoons.  This  truncke  he  brings  to  the  staires  head,  and 
making  fast  the  doore  againe,  drawes  it  downe  the  steppes  so 
so  ft  lye  as  he  could,  for  it  was  so  bigge  and  heavy,  as  he  could 
not  easily  carry  it:  having  it  out  at  the  doore,  unseene  of 
any  neighbour  or  anybody  else,  he  stood  strugling  with  it  to 
lift  it  up  on  the  stall,  which  by  reason  of  the  weight  trobled 
him  very  much.     The  goodman  comming  foorth  of  his  shop, 


NASCIMUR    PRO    PATRIA  113 

to  bid  a  customer  or  two  far  well  made  the  fellowe  afraide 
he  should  now  be  taken  for  all  togither:  but  calling  his 
wittes  together  to  escape  if  he  could,  he  stood  gazing  up  at 
the  signe  belonging  to  the  house,  as  though  he  were  desirous 
to  knowe  what  sign  it  was:  which  the  Cittizen  perceiving, 
came  to  him  and  asked  him  what  he  sought  for?  I  looke  for 
the  sign  of  the  blew  bell  sir,  quoth  the  fellowe,  where  a 
gentleman  having  taken  a  chamber  for  this  tearme  time, 
hath  sent  me  hether  with  this  his  Troncke  of  apparell: 
quoth  the  Citizen,  I  know  no  such  sign  in  this  streete,  but  in 
the  next  (naming  it)  there  is  such  a  one  indeede,  and  there 
dwelleth  one  that  letteth  foorthe  chambers  to  gentlemen. 
Truely  sir  quoth  the  fellowe,  thats  the  house  I  should  go 
to,  I  pray  you  sir  lend  me  your  hand  but  to  helpe  the  Trunke 
on  my  back,  for  I  thinking  to  ease  me  a  while  upon  your 
stall,  set  it  shorte,  and  now  I  can  hardly  get  it  up  againe. 
The  Citizen  not  knowing  his  owne  Trunke,  but  indeede 
never  thinking  on  any  such  notable  deceite:  helpes  him  up 
with  the  Truncke,  and  so  sends  him  away  roundly  with  his 
owne  goods.  When  the  Truncke  was  mist,  I  leave  to  your 
conceits  what  householde  greefe  there  was  on  all  sides,  espe- 
ciallye  the  goodman  himselfe,  who  remembering  how  hee 
helpt  the  fellow  with  a  Truncke,  perceived  that  heereby 
hee  had  beguyled  himselfe,  and  loste  more  then  in  haste 
hee  should  recover  againe.  How  this  may  admonish  others, 
I  leave  to  the  judgement  of  the  indifferent  opinion,  that  see 
when  honest  meaning  is  craftilye  beleagerd,  as  good  fore- 
sight must  be  used  to  prevent  such  daungers." 

The  story  is  typical  for  it  illustrates  the  characteristics 
I  have  enumerated  above.  It  is  short,  it  is  clever,  it  is 
simple,  and,  moreover,  it  is  interesting.  I  believe  that  its 
effectiveness  is  the  result  of  a  conscious  effort.  Greene  wrote 
these  tales  with  a  long  experience  back  of  him.  Starting  out 
as  the  ape  of  Euphues  when  a  boy  of  twenty,  to  enter  the 


114  ROBERT   GREENE 

perilous  career  of  a  man  of  letters  in  Elizabethan  London, 
a  man  of  his  versatility  and  quickness  would  naturally  de- 
velop independence  and  consciousness  of  method.  This 
tale  which  I  have  printed  in  full  shows  such  consciousness. 
There  is  careful  but  rapid  sketching  of  the  setting  and  of 
the  conditions  which  make  possible  the  event  about  to  be 
related.  There  is  just  enough  character  drawing  to  show 
us  the  unsuspecting  citizen  and  the  cunning  thief,  and  to  get 
us  ready  for  their  respective  actions  when  the  unexpected 
moment  of  meeting  arrives.  There  is  concreteness  of  de- 
tail —  the  contents  of  the  trunk  are  given,  which  make  it 
so  desirable  a  prize.  The  dialogue  is  good.  There  is  sus- 
pense, —  What  will  the  thief  do  when  he  finds  himself  dis- 
covered? There  is  admirable  climax  when  Mr.  Goodman 
helps  the  conny-catcher  on  with  his  trunk.  In  its  way,  the 
piece  is  excellent.  And  it  contains  less  than  seven  hundred 
words. 

An  understanding  of  this  narrative  importance  of  the 
social  pamphlets  of  the  first  group  associates  Greene  at 
once  with  the  writer  of  fiction  as  we  have  seen  him  in  con- 
nection with  his  novels.  What  we  said  of  him  there  applies 
even  more  strongly  here.  Greene  is  at  his  best  when  he  is 
concerned  with  the  development  of  events,  and  when  he  is 
not  encumbered  with  the  task  of  presenting  character.  In 
the  illustrative  tales  of  the  conny-catching  pamphlets  all  the 
conditions  for  success  for  a  man  like  Greene  are  inherent 
in  the  nature  of  the  material.  A  rogue  is  pretty  much  a 
rogue  anywhere.  It  is  not  his  character  as  an  individual 
that  we  are  interested  in;  it  is  what  his  character  leads  him, 
and  enables  him,  to  do.  So  that  Greene  is  left,  in  the  writ- 
ing of  these  tales,  to  follow  out  his  own  natural  inclination 
in  presenting  action  and  clever  situation  rather  than  person- 
ality.    His  results  are  often  worthy  of  high  praise. 

The  pamphlets  of  Greene's  first  group  are  superficial  as 


NASCIMUR    PRO    PATRIA  115 

exposures  of  deceits,  and  light  in  their  aim.  Their  greatest 
merit  is  not  in  their  sociological  value,  but  rather  in  their 
qualities  to  afford  entertainment.  The  two  pamphlets  of  the 
second  group  ^^  are  differentiated  from  those  of  the  first  by 
their  keener  insight  into  certain  social  forces  and  by  their 
greater  understanding  of  Elizabethan  society,  one  of  them 
manifesting  an  intelligence  of  the  element  of  sex  as  an 
active  power  toward  crime,  the  other  furnishing  a  knowl- 
edge of  social  estates  at  once  extensive  and  deep. 

These  two  pamphlets  were  not,  it  is  probable,  thus  differ- 
entiated in  Greene's  own  mind.  Professor  Collins,  speaking 
of  the  significance  of  one  of  them,  noted  that  significance  as 
"being  the  more  effective,  as  it  is  obviously  neither  intended 
nor  perceived  by  the  writer."  ^^  I  believe  that  what  Pro- 
fessor Collins  said  is  true.  Greene  apparently  did  not 
regard  these  two  pamphlets  as  unlike  the  Notable  Dis- 
covery or  The  Blacke  Bookes  Messenger,  and  apparently  he 
did  not  publish  them  for  any  different  purpose.  The 
" Reade,  laugh,  and  learne"  on  the  title-page  of  the  Dispu- 
tation would  indicate  as  much.  But  although  Greene  was  not 
aiming  at  the  production  of  anything  different  and  was  not, 
it  may  be,  aware  of  the  greater  significance  of  the  two  pam- 
phlets, the  difference  does  exist,  as  I  shall  try  to  make  clear. 

Of  the  two,  the  Disputation  is  the  nearer  to  the  pamphlets 
of  the  first  group.     We   can,   therefore,   take  it  up  first. 

58  A  DISPUTATION  Betweene  a  Hee  Conny-catcher,  and  a  Shee 
Conny-catcher,  whether  a  Theefe  or  a  Whoore,  is  most  hurtfull  in 
Cousonage,  to  the  Common-wealth.  DISCOVERING  THE  SECRET 
VILLAnies  of  alluring  Strumpets.  With  the  Conversion  of  an 
English  Courtizen,  reformed  this  present  yeare.  1592.  Reade,  laugh, 
and  learne.     Nascimur  pro  patria. 

A  QUIP  FOR  AN  UPstart  Courtier:  Or,  a  quaint  dispute 
between  Veluet  breeches  and  Cloth-breeches.  Wherein  is  plainely 
set  downe  the  disorders  in  all  Estates  and  Trades. 

^  Collins'  Edition  of  Greene.    General  Introduction.    Vol.  I.,  p.  31. 


116  EGBERT   GREENE 

This  work  is  in  two  parts  of  about  equal  length,  some 
forty  pages  each.  The  first  part,  from  which  the  pamphlet 
derives  its  name,  consists  essentially  of  a  dialogue  between 
a  thief  and  a  courtezan,  who  happen  to  meet,  and  who, 
after  they  have  conversed  a  few  minutes  on  the  street,  go 
to  a  tavern,  take  a  room,  and  order  supper.  While  the 
meal  is  preparing,  they  debate  their  respective  abilities  at 
cozenage.^''  Nan  wins,  and  Lawrence  pays  for  the  supper. 
The  dialogue  is  interspersed  with  four  or  five  tales. 

There  are  similarities  to  the  other  pamphlets  which  tend 
to  identify  the  Disputation  with  them.  For  the  Disputation 
is  full  of  references  to  Greene  himself,  advertisements  of 
the  Blacke  Booke  soon  to  appear,  and  of  the  Conny-catching 
pamphlets  already  published.  There  are  the  same  boasts 
of  patriotism  and  of  bravery  despite  the  threats  which  have 
come;  there  is  a  stirring  account  of  how,  while  he  was  at 
supper  one  night  in  St,  John's  Head  within  Ludgate  in  the 
company  of  a  certain  gentleman,  some  "fourteene  or  fif- 
teene  of  them  met,  and  thought  to  have  made  that  the 
fatal  night  of  my  overthrowe";  but  the  citizens  came  to  his 
aid  and  he  escaped,  though  the  gentleman  who  was  with 
him  was  sore  hurt.  There  is  the  same  pride  in  the  effect- 
iveness of  the  exposures,  "I  cannot  deny  but  they  beginne 
to  waste  away  about  London.  ...  I  will  plague  them  to 
the  extreamitie:  let  them  doe  what  they  dare  with  their 
bilbowe  blades,  I  feare  them  not.""  Throughout  the  first 
half  of  the  pamphlet  there  is,  in  short,  such  stir  and  noise 

•"^  Professor  Collins  was  mistaken  in  thinking  that  this  "dialogue 
is  carried  on  in  bed."  Vol.  I.,  p.  31.  He  mis-read  Nan's  remark 
"Lye  a  little  further  &  give  mee  some  roome,"  (Vol.  X.,  p.  205)  and 
did  not  perceive  that  Nan  was  only  rebuking  Lawrence.  "What 
Lawrence,"  she  went  on,  "your  toong  is  too  lavish."  Nan's  proposal 
"Let  us  to  the  Taverne,"  occurs  witliin  five  lines  of  the  remark  which 
led  Professor  Collins  astray. 

«i  Vol.  X.,  p.  236. 


NASCIMUR    PRO    PATRIA  117 

and  clatter,  such  raising  of  the  dust,  no  wonder  we  are 
deafened  and  blinded.  With  all  this  palaver  about  us,  no 
wonder  we  lose  ourselves  and  take  Greene  for  what  he  is 
striving  his  utmost  to  impress  upon  us  that  he  is.  But 
in  such  respects  as  these  Greene  is  still  the  quack. 

In  other  respects,  however,  the  Disputation  is  different 
from  the  pamphlets  I  have  just  associated  it  with.  It  is 
more  vital.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  genuinely  humorous. 
The  whole  affair  of  these  conny-catchers  is  humorous,  to 
be  sure,  if  regarded  from  the  point  of  view  I  have  tried  to 
set  forth.  We  cannot  but  laugh  at  Greene  for  the  face  he 
puts  on.  And  there  are  humorous  passages  in  some  of  the 
pamphlets,  too.  But  the  humor  of  the  Disputation  is  all 
its  own.  It  is  not  the  humor  evoked  by  the  confession  of 
Ned  Browne,  the  laughter  aroused  from  hearing  the  speech 
of  a  wooden  doll,  even  though  the  wooden  doll  be  put  to 
death  at  the  end  with  a  string  about  its  neck.  It  is  not  the 
knowing  smile  in  which  Greene  indulges  over  some  of  the 
more  simple  tales  which  he  thinks  funny;  it  is  not  the  keen 
appreciative  delight  over  a  cleverly  turned  trick;  nor  the 
sympathy  we  bestow  upon  the  rascal  when  we  know  well 
enough  that  we  should  be  sad  for  the  victim.  And  it  is 
not  the  flippant,  saucy  humor  of  the  oft-repeated,  ''Was 
not  this  a  pretty  conny-catching,  Maister  R.  G.?"  The 
humor  of  the  Disputation  is  none  of  these.  It  is  deeper; 
grim,  but  not  cynical.  It  comes  partly  from  the  situation, 
and  partly  from  Greene's  method  of  treatment.  It  is  uncon- 
scious, unaffected.  Nan  and  Lawrence  talk  naturally,  never 
thinking  for  a  moment  that  they  are  being  overheard.  Our 
enjoyment  of  their  conversation  is  that  of  an  eavesdropper. 
We  have  no  business  to  be  there,  but  we  have  not  the  will 
to  go  away.  Nan  and  Lawrence  have  been  so  complaisant 
in  their  views  of  life,  in  the  shrewdness  of  their  wits,  that 
we  delight  to  see  them  wriggle  under  the  sting  of  their 


118  ROBERT   GREENE 

recent  exposure.  We  rejoice  in  their  discomjfiture,  and  their 
bitterness.  A  primitive  sort  of  humor,  no  doubt,  to  laugh 
at  another's  pain,  but  nevertheless  universal,  and  never- 
theless effective. 

In  the  second  place,  Greene  somehow  got  a  hold,  in  this 
little  pamphlet  of  his,  of  one  of  the  most  fundamental  forces 
in  the  whole  world  of  wrong-doing.  He  reveals,  by  the 
dialogue  between  the  thief  and  the  courtezan,  the  power  of 
sex.  In  villainy,  Lawrence  is  supreme.  But  Nan  is  greater 
than  he;  for  most  of  his  arts  are  at  her  command.  She  can 
nip  purses  with  the  best.  She  can  steal,  cheat,  lie.  She 
can  equal  him  at  his  own  trade.  And  then  she  can  do  more. 
Her  strength  is  threefold.  Evil  she  can  do  for  herself;  she 
can  entice  her  victims  to  her  and  destroy  them  herself;  she 
can  demand  tribute  from  those  who  would  retain  her  favor. 
For  hers  is  the  allurement  of  the  strumpet. 

"...  why  the  Lawrence  what  say  you  to  me?  haue  I 
not  prooued  that  in  foysting  and  nipping  we  excell  you, 
that  there  is  none  so  great  inconuenience  in  the  Common 
wealth,  as  growes  from  whores,  first  for  the  corrupting  of 
youth,  infecting  of  age,  for  breeding  of  brawles,  whereof 
ensues  murther,  in  so  much  that  the  ruine  of  many  men 
come  from  us,  and  the  fall  of  many  youthes  of  good  hope, 
if  they  were  not  seduced  by  us,  doe  proclaime  at  Tyborne, 
that  wee  be  the  meanes  of  their  miserie:  you  men  theeues 
touch  the  bodie  and  wealth,  but  we  ruine  the  soule,  and 
indanger  that  which  is  more  pretious  then  the  worldes 
treasure:  you  make  worke  onely  for  the  gallowes,  we  both 
for  the  gallowes  and  the  diuel,  I  and  for  the  Surgian  too, 
that  some  lines  like  loathsome  laizers,  and  die  with  the  French 
Marbles.  Whereupon  I  conclude  that  I  haue  wonne  the 
supper. 

Law.  I  confesse  it  Nan,  for  thou  has  tolde  mee  such 
wondrous  villainies,  as  I  thought  neuer  could  haue  been  in 


NASCIMUR    PRO    PATRIA  119 

women,  I  meane  of  your  profession;  why  you  are  Croco- 
diles when  you  weepe,  Basilisks  when  you  smile,  Serpents 
when  you  deuise,  and  diuels  cheefest  breakers  to  bring  the 
world  to  destruction.  And  so  Nan  lets  sit  downe  to  our 
meate  and  be  merry." 

"Vivid"  and  "graphic"  are  the  words  which  have  been 
applied  to  this  dialogue.*^  Vivid  and  graphic  it  is.  But  it 
does  not  stop  there.  It  is  true, —  true,  that  is,  in  the  largest 
sense.  In  this  pamphlet  we  cannot  quibble  over  details ;  we 
cannot  inquire  whether  this  statement  or  that  has  foundation 
in  the  facts  of  Elizabethan  times,  whether  the  picture  it  pre- 
sents is  accurate  or  not.  We  cannot  judge  this  pamphlet  as 
we  judged  the  pamphlets  of  the  first  group.  Fot  this  one  is 
based  upon  a  universal  principle  of  truth.  Whoever  Nan 
and  Lawrence  may  be  —  creations  of  Greene's  own  imagina- 
tion —  they  are  a  man  and  woman  at  any  time  and  in  any 
place.  Be  the  woman  a  conny-catcher,  she  is  Nan;  be  she 
an  Egyptian  queen,  she  is  Cleopatra;  be  she  a  sorceress, 
she  is  Circe.  And  the  man, —  he  is  any  man  who  does  not 
like  Ulysses  bind  himself  to  the  mast. 

The  second  part  of  the  pamphlet  is,  I  think,  of  less  social 
significance  than  the  first.  It  is  concerned  with  the  story 
of  an  English  courtezan  who  is  converted  from  her  life  of 
sin  to  one  of  virtue.  The  reformation  is  brought  about  by 
a  young  man  who,  going  with  the  beautiful  courtezan  into 
a  very  dark  room,  reminds  her  that  even  there  God  can  see 
them.  He  pleads  with  her  to  change  her  life.  She  does 
so.  Then  he  takes  her  from  the  house  of  shame  and  she 
becomes  his  wife.  "Not  a  fiction,  but  a  truth  of  one  that 
yet  lives,"  Greene  tells  us,  is  this  wonderful  "life  of  a 
Curtszin"  whose  reformation  took  place  "this  present 
yeare.     1592." 

One  need  not  believe,  in  spite  of  Greene's  declaration, 
*2  Collins.     General  Introduction.    Vol.  I.,  p.  32. 


120  ROBERT   GREENE 

that  we  have  the  account  of  a  real  person.  Within  this 
story  there  is  a  second  story  of  similar  nature,  "a  pleasant 
discourse,  how  a  wife  wanton  by  her  husbands  gentle  warn- 
ing, became  to  be  a  modest  Matron,"  which,  I  have 
pointed  out  before,  Greene  took  from  Gascoigne's  Adventures 
of  Master  F.  J.  (1573),^*  the  story  of  how  a  man  won  back 
his  faithless  wife  from  his  faithless  friend  by  paying  her  as 
a  courtezan,  and  by  his  kindly  manner.  Whether  Greene 
had  some  similar  source  for  the  story  of  the  English  courtezan 
is  not  known.  The  method  of  the  young  man  in  taking  the 
woman  to  the  darkest  room  in  the  house  is  somewhat  similar 
to  that  which  the  wife  of  the  usurer's  victim  in  the  Defence  ^* 
used  in  getting  the  usurer  into  a  remote  room.  In  that  room 
she  confined  him.  In  this  present  story  the  young  man 
pleads  with  the  sinful  woman.  The  aims  of  the  two  were 
different,  perhaps  too  much  so  for  us  to  say  that  one  story 
influenced  the  other.  But  whether  a  source  will  ever  be 
discovered  or  not,  the  identity  of  the  woman  and  the  origin 
of  her  story  have  no  relation  to  the  significance  of  her  con- 
version. That  significance  is  dependent  upon  Greene's  im- 
aginative treatment. 

I  have  throughout  this  chapter  looked  upon  Greene 
lightly,  and  I  have  placed  little  faith  in  his  words  or  in  his 
purposes.  Even  the  dying  words  of  Ned  Browne,  the  cut- 
purse,  I  have  regarded  mostly  as  clap-trap.  The  story  of 
the  courtezan  is  apparently  like  that  of  Ned  Browne,  but  in 
reality  I  believe  the  two  are  different.  I  cannot  see  that 
it  is  a  mistake  to  perceive  more  sincerity  in  the  prayer  of  the 
young  man  and  in  the  woman's  turning  from  sin  than  is  to  be 
found  in  most  of  Greene's  work.  Such  passages  are  very  few 
with  him,  in  which  we  get  genuine  emotion  and  sincerity 

"  Gascoigne,  Ed.  W.  C.  Hazlitt,  Vol.  I.,  p.  473.     Modern  Language 
Notes.     Vol.  30,  No.  2,  p.  61. 
"  Vol.  XI.,  p.  58. 


NASCIMUR    PRO    PATRIA  121 

of  expression.  When  we  do  come  upon  one  which  seems 
to  be  sound,  we  pause  suspicious.  We  hesitate;  we  fear 
that  it  may  turn  out  mere  sentimentality  and  that  our  feel- 
ings may  be  trifled  with.  The  reformation  of  the  courtezan, 
however,  appears  real.  I  mean  not  that  the  story  of  it  — 
the  manner  in  which  it  is  brought  about  —  is  affecting,  but 
that  the  emotion  which  the  account  of  it  arouses  is  real. 
Here,  for  one  of  the  rare  times  in  Greene,  one  may  let  one- 
self go  and  not  feel  that  one  is  mawkish,  too  easily  moved, 
unperceptive. 

In  the  two  respects  that  I  have  indicated,  one  in  the 
recognition  of  an  important  sociological  factor  in  crime, 
the  other  in  the  expression  of  a  true  emotion,  the  Disputa- 
tion is  worthy  to  be  separated  from  the  larger  and  less  pro- 
found group  of  Greene's  social  pamphlets.  The  Quippefor  an 
Upstart  Courtier  also  has  this  same  depth  of  interest. 

In  the  Quippe  we  are  no  longer  concerned  with  the  conny- 
catchers  and  the  harlots.  In  it  Greene  does  not  deal  with 
one  class  only,  but  with  some  sixty  professions  and  trades, 
from  the  knight  down  to  the  lowest  and  humblest  workman, 
all  of  which  are  passed  in  review,  commented  upon,  and 
branded  as  good  or  bad.  Greene's  method  is  as  follows. 
One  day  in  the  Spring,  he  is  in  the  fields  gathering  flowers. 
There  are  many  people  around.  Suddenly  they  all  dis- 
appear and  Greene  is  left  alone.  In  a  few  moments  he  sees 
coming  toward  him  a  pair  of  gorgeous  velvet  breeches :  from 
the  opposite  direction  appears  a  pair  of  plain  cloth  ones. 
These  two,  representing  pride  and  lowliness,  debate  their 
right  to  hold  the  realm  of  Britain.  They  can  reach  no 
agreement.  A  jury  is  proposed,  the  selection  of  which  fills 
the  important  part  of  the  pamphlet.  Finally,  however,  the 
twenty-four  men  are  chosen,  with  the  knight  at  their  head. 
The  jury  debates  briefly  and  renders  its  decision  that  cloth 
breeches  is  the  older  and  rightful  possessor  of  the  land. 


122  ROBERT   GREENE 

Greene  got  the  plan  and  many  details,  sometimes  verbal 
borrowings  and  paraphrases,  from  a  poem  written  a  number 
of  years  before.  This  was  The  Debate  between  Pride  and 
Lowliness  by  one  F.  T.,^^  the  relation  between  which  and 
Greene's  tract  was  first  pointed  out  by  Mr.  J.  Payne  Collier 
in  1841.  Of  this  poem  "the  most  remarkable  circumstance," 
Collier  says,^®  is  that  Greene  "stole  the  whole  substance  of 
it,  and,  putting  it  into  prose,  published  it  in  1592,  in  his 
own  name,  and  as  his  own  work."  Storojenko  does  well  to 
object  to  Collier's  statement.^''  It  is  indeed  true,  as  he  says, 
that  while  the  work  is  by  no  means  entirely  original  Greene 
did  much  more  than  transform  dull  poetry  into  interesting 
prose.  Greene  took  the  plan  and  the  purpose  of  the  old 
debate;  but  he  omitted  and  he  added.  He  did  not  in  any 
sense  permit  himself  to  be  a  slave  to  his  original. 

The  result  is  that  Greene's  pamphlet  is  much  better  than 
the  poem  on  which  it  is  based.  Instead  of  the  eighty  pages 
of  stiff  unreadable  quatrains  with  their  awkward  versifica- 
tion and  their  lack  of  emphasis,  Greene  gives  us  sprightly 
prose  which  is  as  free  from  monotony  as  the  method  of  the 
work  would  well  allow.  The  plan,  in  itself,  is  not  conducive 
to  the  production  of  enthusiasm.  Sixty  orders  are  to  be 
brought  into  view,  talked  about,  and  gotten  rid  of.  That 
is  a  tremendous  task.  And  those  sixty  orders  must  be  dis- 
cussed with  sufficient  distinctness  to  warrant  the  selection 
of  twenty-four  of  them  to  serve  as  a  jury.  There  are  indi- 
cations that  Greene  realized  the  enormity  of  the  under- 
taking and  that  he  planned  definitely  to  meet  it.  In  the 
first  place  he  lets  the  debate  between  velvet  breeches  and 

"  Formerly  thought  to  be  Francis  Thynne,  but  shown  not  to  be 
by  FurnivaJl  in  his  Preface  to  the  Animadversions  of  Thynne,  Chaucer 
Society,  1876,  p.  cxwaii. 

»  Shak.  Soc.  Pub.  Vol.  XVII.     Introduction,  p.  v. 

"  Grosart's  Edition  of  Greene's  Works,  Vol.  I.,  p.  143. 


NASCIMUR    PRO    P ATRIA  123 

cloth  breeches  rise  to  a  high  pitch  before  he  proposes  the 
settlement  by  jury.  Then  he  does  not  tell  us  whether  the 
case  is  to  "be  tried  by  a  verdict  of  twelve  or  four  and 
twenty."     If  only  twelve,  we  think,  it  will  not  take  long. 

The  jury  is  hard  to  select.  First  comes  a  tailor  in  velvet 
and  satin,  pert,  as  dapper  as  a  bridegroom.  Greene  invites 
him  to  be  of  the  jury. 

"Not  so,"  quoth  cloth  breeches,  "I  challenge  him." 

"And  why?"  quoth  I. 

Whereupon  cloth  breeches  lays  bare  the  vanity  of  tailors, 
their  deceits  and  dishonesties,  their  catering  to  pride,  their 
disregard  for  simplicity  of  fashion,  and  so  on.  Then  the 
tailor  steps  aside.     He  will  not  do. 

Presently  comes  a  broker.  He  is  refused.  Then  a  barber, 
a  physician,  an  apothecary,  a  lawyer.  All  are  open  to  some 
criticism.  Finally  the  twelfth  man  is  accepted,  a  rope- 
maker.^^  We  are  relieved.  One  man  has  been  chosen. 
But  alas!  the  next  three  are  refused  for  their  villainy.  We 
give  up  in  despair. 

Now  for  a  stroke  of  luck.  Three  men  arrive  together,  the 
knight,  the  esquire,  the  gentleman.  They  must  be  of  the 
jury,  and  we  have  four. 

Here  is  the  best  news  of  all.  "Ther  came  a  troope  of  men 
in  apparell  seeming  poore  honest  Citizens,  in  all  they  were 
eight."  They  were  content  to  serve.  Nobody  had  serious 
objections,  and  so  they  took  their  places  with  the  other 
four.  We  are  quite  as  glad  as  Greene  that  "there  were  so 
many  accepted  of  at  once,  and  hoped  that  now  quickly  the 
jury  would  be  ful."  In  a  moment  the  thirteenth  man  is 
chosen. 

Apparently  things  are  going  well.  We  shall  soon  be 
through.     Then  nine  in  succession  are  refused! 

**  This  was  the  celebrated  passage  from  which  the  Greene-Harvey- 
Nashe  quarrel  immediately  arose. 


124  ROBERT   GREENE 

Well,  the  jury  is  finally  chosen.  But  that  is  not  the 
point.  What  I  wish  to  emphasize  is  that  Greene  made  a 
conscious  effort  to  counteract  a  fundamental  difficulty.  If 
he  was  going  to  succeed  in  presenting  sixty  orders  in  a 
salable  pamphlet  he  had  to  do  something  more  than  enu- 
merate; and  what  Greene  accomplished  was  considerably 
more  than  enumeration.  He  came  to  the  writing  of  the 
Quippe  with  a  twelve  years'  experience  as  a  man  who  had 
made  his  living  with  a  pen.  He  had  been  obliged,  as  never 
an  Englishman  before  him,  to  learn  the  art  of  successful 
composition,  and  he  had  come  to  a  realization  of  the  fact 
that  the  manner  of  expression  counted  much.  Greene 
brings  before  us,  then,  the  sixty  orders;  but  his  method  is 
one  which  has  interest  in  itself.  He  manages  to  shift  our 
attention  away  from  the  monotony  of  counting  off  trades- 
men to  the  more  human  and  interesting  task  of  being  sorry 
for  ourselves  that  the  selection  of  a  jury  for  this  ridiculous 
quarrel  should  take  so  long. 

Founded  though  it  is  upon  the  work  of  another,  the  Quippe 
marks  the  highest  point  in  the  development  of  Greene's 
prose  style.  Notwithstanding  that  the  first  part  of  the  piece 
is  not  closely  related  to  the  rest  of  it,  and  that  these  opening 
pages  are  marked  distinctly  by  the  artificialities  of  Euphuism, 
the  body  of  the  tract  is  well  written  and  thoroughly  mature. 
It  has  the  simplicity  which  characterizes  the  other  social 
pamphlets;  and  it  has  also  a  dignity  which  they  lack.  It 
has  humor  —  not  so  much  as  the  Disputation  —  and  clear- 
ness of  outline.  The  sentences  are  firmly  constructed,  and 
contrast  with  the  straggling  ungrammatical  creations  of  the 
earlier  works.     There  is  vigor  and  strength  and  stability. 

In  addition  to  the  qualities  which  arise  from  the  style, 
the  Quippe  made  improvement  over  the  Debate  in  the  trans- 
formation of  the  abstractions  of  personality.  The  butcher, 
the  baker,  the  bellows-mender,  the  goldsmith,  the  cook, — 


NASCIMUR    PRO    PATRIA  125 

all  these,  as  types,  belong  of  course  to  the  genre  of  character- 
writing.  Greene's  (rather  F.  T.'s)  idea  of  presenting  them 
is,  therefore,  by  no  means  new.  And  Greene's  attitude 
toward  these  personages  is  not  unique  either,  for  they  are  in 
his  work  still  representatives  of  a  type.  This  is  necessarily 
so;  else  they  would  have  no  place  in  a  work  of  this  kind  — 
any  more  than  the  Knight  or  the  Lady  Prioress  would 
have  in  the  company  of  the  immortal  pilgrims  if  they  did 
not  personify  definite  social  classes.  But  types  as  they  are, 
Greene  has  made  over  the  bloodless  and  boneless  unrealities 
of  the  poem,  and  has  given  them  a  degree  of  reality.  They 
are  not  abstract  types,  but  semi-living  types,  if  it  be  not  a 
paradox  to  say  so.  They  are  the  product,  not  of  an  exposi- 
tory, but  of  a  dramatic  mood.  It  cannot  be  maintained  that 
Greene  has  secured  total  freedom  from  the  method  of  his 
predecessor.  But  he  has  done  much.  He  has  secured  for 
the  types  of  which  he  writes  the  attention  which  we  pay  to 
personality  rather  than  to  a  discussion  of  estates  and  con- 
ditions of  life. 

It  is  entirely  in  accord  with  Greene's  nature  that  he  should 
not  have  succeeded  in  endowing  the  people  in  the  Quippe 
with  complete  individuality.  Had  he  been  Chaucer  he  could 
have  done  so.  But  Greene  was  not,  as  we  saw  in  his  fic- 
tion, able  to  progress  to  a  sharp  presentation  of  character. 
His  talent  lay  in  the  direction  of  the  ordering  of  events. 
The  Quippe  is  another  illustration  of  this  fact.  I  endeav- 
ored to  show  how  Greene  made  definite  provision  for  his 
reader's  interest  in  his  narrative.  But  he  did  not,  and 
could  not,  make  the  same  provision  in  the  w^ay  of  character. 
So  far  as  the  Quippe  is  story,  therefore,  it  is  successful.  So 
far  as  it  is  presentation  of  character,  it  is  not  wholly  so. 

Defective  in  the  element  of  characterization  the  Quippe 
is,  despite  the  vast  amount  of  improvement  which  Greene 
made.     But  after  all,  I  do  not  believe  that  the  greatest 


126  ROBERT   GREENE 

importance  of  the  pamphlet  attaches  to  its  quality  either 
as  narrative  or  as  study  of  character.  The  real  significance 
I  take  to  be  the  firmness  of  its  grasp  upon  an  understanding 
of  social  values. 

In  turning  from  the  underworld  of  London  Greene  was 
broadening  his  view  of  society.  He  was  dealing  not  with 
the  problems  of  a  particular  time  and  place,  but  rather 
with  the  universal  struggle  between  haughtiness  on  the  one 
hand  which  leads  to  tyranny,  and  lowliness  on  the  other 
which  leads  to  the  development  of  a  substantial  common- 
wealth and  the  establishment  of  democratic  ideals. 

Satires  of  the  estates  compose  an  established  literary 
tradition.  Greene  is  carrying  on  this  tradition  of  the 
satire,  of  course.  Perhaps  he  meant  only  satire,  an  expo- 
sure, in  this  quaint  dispute  and  in  the  judgment  of  the 
classes  of  society  who  are  to  make  up  the  jury,  of  the  traits 
of  good  and  bad,  of  uplifting  and  degenerating,  which  con- 
stitute everywhere  the  society  of  men.  There  is  no  way  of 
knowing  whether  Oreene  meant  anything  else  than  just  that. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE   POETRY 


If  we  exclude  the  lost  ballad,  of  which  we  know  nothing 
but  the  title, ^  Greene's  career  as  a  poet  extends  over  nine 
years,  from  the  time  of  the  Second  Part  of  Mamillia  in  1583 
down  until  his  death.  In  this  period  of  time  Greene  ran 
the  number  of  his  poems  up  to  almost  ninety.  His  poems, 
with  few  exceptions,  are  lyrics;  and  all  but  one  are  found 
embedded,  either  incidentally  or  integrally,  in  the  romances 
upon  which  he  was  engaged. 

Greene  was  not  unique,  of  course,  in  his  mingling  of  prose 
and  poetry.  There  were  plenty  of  examples  in  the  work 
of  the  Italian  writers,  notably  of  Sannazaro.  His  immediate 
predecessors  in  the  field  of  English  prose  fiction  —  Painter, 
Fenton,  Gascoigne,  for  instance  —  had  employed  the  method. 
And  Greene's  own  contemporaries  were  doing  the  same  thing, 
men  like  Riche  and  Lodge,  and  above  all,  Sir  Philip  Sidney. 

For  the  most  part,  Greene's  poems,  like  those  of  the 
other  writers,  bear  little  relation  to  the  romances  in  which 
they  occur.  They  are  inserted,  often  on  the  flimsiest  pos- 
sible excuse,  to  afford  their  author  a  means  of  publication 
for  what  are  not  infrequently  experimental  effusions,  and 

1  Edward  White:  Vicesimo  die  Marcii  (1581)  Lycenced  unto  him 
under  th(e)  (h)andes  of  the  Bishop  of  London  and  the  wardens,  A 
Ballad  Intituled,  youthe  seinge  all  his  wais  so  Troublesome  abandon- 
inge  vertue  and  learninge  to  vyce,  Recalleth  his  former  follies  with 
an  inwarde  Repentaunce  By  Greene.  Stationers'  Register,  Arber  Vol. 
II.,  p.  391. 

127 


128  ROBERT   GREENE 

what  are  in  any  event  only  poetical  by-products  which  would 
otherwise  have  had  no  chance  of  circulation. 

Sometimes  a  passage  is  put  into  poetry,  and  so  introduced, 
which  might  just  as  well,  as  prose,  have  formed  a  part  of  the 
romance,  or  have  been  omitted  altogether.  How  far  this 
habit  is  carried  can  be  seen  in  the  Description  of  Maesia.^ 
"She  was  passing  fair,"  says  Greene,  ''for  this  I  remember 
was  her  description."  And  the  poem  of  eighteen  lines  which 
follows  is  not  merely  incidental,  but  obviously  dragged  in. 
Certain  poems  are,  however,  by  Greene's  own  statement, 
meant  to  be  incidental.  One  of  the  best-known  poems,  his 
Sonetto  in  Menaphon,  What  thing  is  Love?^  is  so  intro- 
duced:—  "Since  we  have  talkte  of  Love  so  long,  you  shall 
give  me  leave  to  shewe  my  opinion  of  that  foolish  fancie 
thus."  More  frequently,  though,  than  for  any  other  reason, 
the  poems,  be  they  of  ever  so  little  importance  to  the  develop- 
ment of  the  story,  are  put  forward  on  the  pretext  that  they 
are  expressions  of  mental  states  of  various  characters.  And 
so  we  have  Doralicia,  who  "to  rid  hir  selfe  therefore  from 
these  dumpes,  took  hir  Lute,  whereupon  she  played  thys 
dittie";^  Barmenissa,  who  "was  overcharged  with  melan- 
choly: to  avoyde  the  which  .  .  .  she  warbled  out  this 
Madrygale";^  Isabel,  who  "cald  for  pen  and.  inck  and 
wrote  this  mournfull  Sonnet";^  and  many  another  dis- 
tressed heroine  or  repentant  hero. 

In  many  cases,  to  be  sure,  there  does  exist  a  definite,  and 
often  a  necessary,  connection  between  the  poem  and  the 
novel.     Occasion  for  Arion's  discourse  upon  the  nature  of 

^  Farewell  to  Follie,  Vol.  IX.,  p.  266. 

3  Vol.  VI.,  p.  140.  Mr.  Crawford  (Notes  and  Queries.  Ser.  10. 
No.  9.  May  2,  1908)  points  out  that  Allot  in  England's  Parnassus 
wrongly  ascribes  this  poem  to  the  Earl  of  Oxford. 

^  Arbasto,  Vol.  III.,  p.  248. 

6  Penelopes  Web,  Vol.  V.,  p.  179. 

«  Never  too  Late,  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  157. 


THE   POETRY  129 

women  was  given  by  the  song  of  Arion.''  Eurimachus' 
Madrigal  was  overheard  by  the  mistress,  who  stepped  to 
the  lover  and  "drave  him  .  .  .  abruptly  from  his  pas- 
sions." **  Under  the  story  of  the  fly  which  would  perch 
beside  the  eagle,  Menaphon  pleaded  his  love.^  Melicertus 
fell  in  love  with  Samela  after  he  heard  Doron's  song  in 
description  of  her.^"  Mullidor  sent  his  Madrigal  to  his 
lady,  in  a  letter.^^  And  lastly,  Infida  and  Lamilia  sang 
their  courtezan's  songs,  deliberately  to  allure  and  retain 
their  victims.^^ 

There  are  numerous  other  poems  which  have  this  same 
relation  to  plot  development.  For  all  these  the  modern  reader 
feels  the  justification.  But  on  the  whole,  the  impression  of 
Greene's  poetry,  so  far  as  its  place  in  his  romances  is  con- 
cerned, is  that  it  has  no  particular  reason  for  existence. 
The  question  of  its  intrinsic  value  is  another  matter. 
Whether  or  not  it  has  merit,  it  must  be  considered  on  its 
own  basis  and  not  on  that  of  its  pretended  relationship. 

II 

The  themes  of  Greene's  poems  connect  him  with  more 
than  one  poetic  movement.  He  was  in  several  ways  the 
descendant  of  the  poets  who  had  preceded  him  during  the 
last  thirty  years,  for  few  indeed  are  the  subjects  employed 
by  them  which  do  not  find  a  place  in  his  work.  At  the  same 
time,  he  was  strongly  affected  by  the  newer  influences  which 
kept  coming  in  from  Italy  and  France,  and  which  did  much 
to  change  the  character  of  English  poetry  during  this  period. 
As  a  result,  Greene  is,  in  this  division  of  his  work,  as  in 

^  Orpharion,  Vol  XII.,  p.  65.  »  Alcida,  Vol.  IX.,  p.  99. 

9  Menaphon,  Vol.  VI.,  p.  59.  "  lb.,  p.  65. 

"  Francescos  Fortunes,  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  217. 
"  Never  too  Late,  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  75. 
Groatsworth  of  Wit,  Vol.  XII.,  p.  113. 


130  ROBERT   GREENE 

everything  else  that  he  did,  a  fairly  accurate  mirror  of  the 
literary  activity  of  the  age. 

Like  the  other  Elizabethan  lyrists,  Greene  sang  mostly 
of  love.  Love  is  his  prevailing  theme,  and  he  treats  it  in 
various  ways.  "What  thing  is  Love?"  he  asks.  It  is  a 
power  divine,  a  discord,  a  desire,  a  peace."  Love  has  no 
law."  Life  without  love  is  lost,  just  as  sheep  die  without 
their  food.^^  Greene  praises  chastity  ^^  and  constancy  ^^  in 
love,  and  he  writes  of  lightness  ^^  and  jealousy  ^^  in  affection. 
Six  poems  preach  definitely  the  warning  to  beware  of  love. 
Three  have  their  basis  in  the  Eros  motiv.  After  the  manner 
of  Petrarchists,  Greene  deals  with  the  pangs  of  the  lover. 
At  least  six  of  his  poems  are  on  this  theme.  But  there  is 
in  none  of  them  that  exquisite  restlessness  and  analytic 
subtlety  shown  by  Wyatt  and  the  other  poets  of  the  early 
Miscellanies,  and  by  the  Sonneteers. 

Greene,  besides  reflecting  the  interest  of  his  time  in  the 
poetry  of  love,  reflects  also  its  interest  in  the  pastoral  devel- 
opment which  had  been  strengthening  for  some  time,  and 
which,  given  decided  impetus  by  the  Shepherd's  Calendar, 
first  gained  real  importance  in  the  decade  following  upon 
1580. 

This  element  of  pastoralism  Greene  uses  in  several  ways: 
whether  for  adornment  as  when  Menaphon  sang 

"When  ewes  brought  home  with  evening  Sunne 
Wend  to  their  foldes. 
and  to  their  holdes, 
The  shepheards  trudge  when  light  of  daye  is  done,"  ^^ 

"  Menaphon,  Vol.  VI.,  p.  140.  "  lb.,  p.  87. 

"  Never  too  Late,  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  50. 

'«  Philomela,  Vol.  XI.,  pp.  123,  178. 

"  76.,  p.  149;  also  Alcida,  Vol.  IX.,  p.  87. 

"  Alcida,  Vol.  IX.,  p.  87.     Orpharion,  Vol.  XII.,  p.  21. 

"  Ciceronis  Amor,  Vol.  VII.,  p.  123. 

^^  Menaphon,  Vol.  VI.,  p.  59. 


THE   POETRY  131 

in  introduction  to  his  plea  for  love;  or  whether  as  a  medium 
by  which  to  extol  love's  sweetness, 

"If  countrie  loves  such  sweet  desires  do  gaine, 
What  Lady  would  not  love  a  Shepheard  Swaine?"  " 

Pastoralism  in  Greene's  poetry,  however,  found  its  chief 
expression  in  the  seven  poems  which  recount  the  stories  of 
shepherds'  loves.  In  the  case  of  Doron's  Jigge,^^  the  poem, 
to  be  sure,  is  mostly  jingle,  with  only  a  few  lines  of  narra- 
tive to  make  a  slight  story.  Again  when  Doron  and  Car- 
mela  join  in  an  eclogue,^^  the  story  is  of  slight  importance. 
The  interest  in  this  dialogue  poem  centers  rather  upon  the 
rustic  characters  themselves  and  upon  their  speech,  an 
interest  which  is  not  in  any  degree  changed,  whether  we 
consider  the  poem  as  a  serious  attempt  on  Greene's  part 
to  imitate  country  talk  or  as  fun-poking  at  country  manners. 

''When  Phillis  kept  sheepe  along  the  westerne  plaines," 
however,  "and  Coridon  did  feed  his  flocks  hard  by,"^'*  we 
have  as  a  result  a  poem  in  which  the  love-story  is  of  some 
value.  There  is  the  conventional,  but  ever  charming, 
beauty  of  the  shepherdess  which  sets  the  shepherd's  heart 
on  fire.  There  is  Coridon's  leaving  of  his  flocks  to  begin 
the  wooing,  his  ineptitude  in  speech,  and  his  declaration  of 
love.  There  is  Phyllis'  coyness,  and  questioning,  and  eva- 
sion, and  final  consent.  And  so  "this  love  begun  and  ended 
both  in  one."  In  the  Shepheards  Ode,^^  too,  we  have  re- 
counted the  love  of  this  same  youthful  couple,  or  of  another 
youthful  couple  with  the  same  delightfully  pastoral  names. 

These  are  the  stories  of  happy  loves.  The  maiden  is 
kind,  and    all    ends  well.     But  the  event    is    not  always 

"^^  Mourning  Garment,  Vol.  IX.,  p.  143a. 

^2  Menaphon,  Vol.  VI.,  p.  69. 

23  lb.,  p.  137. 

"  Perimedes,  Vol.  VII.,  p.  91. 

25  Ciceronis  Amor,  Vol.  VII.,  p.  180. 


132  ROBERT   GREENE 

thus.2«  Poor  Tytirus  "did  sigh  and  see"  .  .  .  "where 
Galate  his  lover  goes," —  Galate  with  the  green  chaplet  on 
her  head  and  the  beautiful  face,  as  fair  as  a  maid's  could  be. 
But  she  said  him  nay  and  was  off  with  a  smile.  And  so 
was  Tj^tirus  turned  to  scorn  the  smiles  and  faces  of  woman- 
kind, and  to, 

"say  to  love,  and  women  both, 
What  I  liked,  now  I  do  loath." 

Old  Menalcus  went  even  farther  than  disdain.  He  had 
loved,  but  all  in  vain.  And  so  he  had  learned  to  repent, 
and,  from  his  unhappy  outcome,  to  stand  as  a  warning  to 
youth  that  it  should  beware  of  love."  One  more  pastoral 
theme  Greene  uses  in  this  group  of  poems.  I  refer  to  the 
unhappy  love  of  Rosamund  and  Alexis,  to  Rosamund's 
grief,  lamentation,  and  death, —  the  sad  result  of  abandon- 
ment by  the  faithless  shepherd  Alexis.^^ 

Greene  has  another  pastoral  poem.  The  Description  of  the 
Shepherd  and  his  Wife,  which  may  serve  as  a  transition 
to  the  next  group  which  we  take  up.  This  poem 2*  is  pas- 
toral only  in  the  sense  that  it  deals  with  conventional 
country  people.  It  does  in  reality  belong  to  another  type 
of  poetry  which  Greene  was  fond  of  writing, —  namely, 
descriptions  of  persons.  He  describes  both  men  and 
women,  not  because  an  idea  of  their  appearance  is  neces- 
sary in  any  connection,  but  merely  because  he  delights  to 
compose  such  descriptions  for  their  own  sake. 

Aside  from  this  description  of  the  shepherd,  there  are 
six  poems  which  are  pure  descriptions  of  men.  The  most 
noticeable  group  is  that  found  in  Greene's  Vision,  in  which 
we  have  three  poems  obviously  planned  together.     These 

^  Mourning  Garment,  Vol.  IX.,  p.  201. 
"  Never  too  Late,  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  17. 
^  Mourning  Garment,  Vol.  IX.,  p.  159. 
»  lb.,  p.  141. 


THE   POETRY  133 

are  the   descriptions  of  Chaucer,   Gower,   and   Solomon,^" 
very  elaborate,  with  some  attempt  at  characterization,  but 
with  more  attention  to  outward  detail  of  bodily  appearance 
and  garments.     Another  rather  interesting  poem  on  this 
theme  is  Infida's  Song  in  Never  too  Late.^^    Here  we  have 
a  poem,  written  as  a  description  of  a  man,  which,  except 
that  it  is  sung  by  a  courtezan  to  entice  her  lover,  and  that 
it  contains  what  might  easily  be  said  to  be  adaptations"  to 
the  sex  of  the  singer,  cannot  in  any  way  T^e  distinguished  \ 
from  the  conventional  descriptions  of  women.     There  areV 
the  same  cherry  cheeks,  vermilion  lips,  silver-white  neck,] 
and  flaming  eyes  which  fill  the  fond  one's  thoughts  with] 
"sweet  desires";  there  is  the  same  appeal  for  mercy  that' 
may  be  found  in  any  other  Elizabethan  song  of  the  kind 
sung  by  a  man.     Indeed,  we  wonder  whether  there  was 
any  clear-cut  difference  as  to  how  the  descriptions  should 
read,   and   whether  all   such   descriptive  poems  were  not 
made  purely  in  accordance  with  a  convention  which  would 
fit  either  men  or  women.     We  have  at  least  seen  such  to 
be  the  case  in  Infida's  Song.     And  besides,  Solomon  and 
the  Palmer  ^2  both  had  amber  locks  —  as  what  Elizabethan 
beauty,  save  an  occasional  dark-haired  maiden,  had  not? 

Whether  all  poets  so  conventionalized  their  ideas  of  hand- 
some men  we  do  not  have  any  adequate  way  of  knowing. 
For  outside  of  Marlowe's  celebrated  description  of  Leander, 
these  descriptions  of  men  are  rare  in  the  poetry  of  the  age. 
We  have  observed  frequently  that  Greene  is  both  a  mirror 
and  an  experimenter.  Perhaps  in  these  descriptions  he  is 
showing  us  his  experimental  side. 

In  his  descriptions  of  women,  however,  Greene  was  by 
no  means  unique.     Such  poems  were  common  enough  in 

30  Vol.  XII.,  pp.  209,  210,  275. 

"  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  75. 

32  Never  too  Late,  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  13. 


134  ROBERT   GREENE 

Elizabethan  poetry,  as  they  are  in  all  poetry.  There  were 
beginnings  of  them  even  in  TotteVs  Miscellany.  Wyatt  has 
a  reference  to  "tresses  of  gold."^^  Surrey  speaks  of  his 
mistress'  "golden  tresses"  and  "smilyng  lokes."^^  Grim- 
aid  ^^  mentions  his  lady's  eyes,  head,  foot,  etc.,  even  though 
he  does  not  describe  them.  But  in  the  poems  of  the  uncer- 
tain authors  we  find  examples  of  elaborate  description.^^  We 
find  them  also  in  Turberville  ^^ — yellow  hair,  eyes  like  stars 
or  sapphires,  little  mouth,  coral  lips,  teeth  white  as  whale- 
bone, body  blameless,  arms  rightly  proportioned,  and  hands 
well-shaped.  And  so  on  in  the  works  of  many  of  the  mis- 
cellaneous lyrists.^*  Thomas  Watson  has  the  same  sort  of 
description  in  his  Passionate  Century  of  Love.  Watson's  lady, 
too,  is  of  the  golden-haired,  blue-eyed,  fair-skinned  type, 
whose  cheeks  are  of  lilies  and  roses.^^  As  Professor  Erskine 
remarks,  "the  important  thing  about  it  (this  method  of 
description)  is  that  the  picture  immediately  became  con- 
ventionalized with  the  Elizabethan  poets,  and  it  is  the  ideal 
of  beauty  for  the  whole  period."'"' 

Slavishly,  almost,  Greene  conforms  to  this  ideal  in  his 

33  Arber's  Repnnt,  p.  68.  ^4  75^  p    12. 

^  lb.,  p.  98.  36  75.^  p.  214;   p.  270. 

"  Ed.  Chambers,  Vol.  II.,  p.  644;   p.  648. 

38  "If  I  should  undertake  to  wryte  in  prayse  of  a  gentlewoman,  I 
would  neither  prayse  her  chrystal  eye,  nor  her  cherrie  lippe,  .  .  . 
For  these  things  are  trita  and  obvia."  Gascoigne.  Notes  of  Instruction, 
1575.     Gregory  Smith,  Elizabethan  Critical  Essays.  1904.    Vol.  I.,  p.  48. 

39  Hecatompathia.  Spenser  Society,  1869,  p.  21,  "This  passion  of 
love  is  lively  expressed  by  the  Authour,  in  that  he  lavishlie  praiseth 
the  person  and  beautifuU  ornaments  of  his  love,  one  after  another  as 
they  lie  in  order.  He  partly  imitateth  here  in  Aeneas  Silviu-s,  who 
setteth  downe  the  like  in  describing  Lucretia  the  love  of  Euryalus; 
and  partly  he  followeth  Ariosto  Canto  7,  where  he  describeth  Alcina; 
and  partly  borroweth  from  some  others  where  they  describe  the 
famous  Helen  of  Greece." 

"  The  Elizabethan  Lyric.  1905.  p.  91. 


THE    POETRY  135 

ypoems.'*^  His  women  look  just  alike,  created,  as  they  are, 
/all  of  them  thoroughly  in  accordance  with  the  accepted 
model.  But  on  this  set  convention,  Greene  rings  all  possible 
changes,  with  variations  in  simile  and  mythological  adorn- 
ment. Now  my  lady's  lips  are  ruby  red,  now  roses  over- 
washed  with  dew;  her  cheeks  are  lilies  steeped  in  wine,  or 
strewn  with  roses  red  and  white;  or 

"Lilly  cheekes  whereon  beside 
Buds  of  Roses  shew  their  pride."  *^ 

Her  stature  is  like  tall  cedar  trees,^^  her  pace  like  princely 
Juno's,  she  is  fairer  than  Diana,  or  Thetis,  or  Venus.  And 
so  on,  ad  infinitum,  in  the  fifteen  or  twenty  poems  on  this 
theme.'*^  But  her  locks  are  always  golden,  and  her  eyes  are 
always  as  sapphires  or  as  twinkling  stars.  There  are  in 
Greene's  work  none  of  those  somewhat  rare  exceptions  to 
this  blonde  ideal,  exceptions  which  eulogize  dark-complexioned 
women,  such  as  Sidney  praises  in  Astrophel  and  Stella,*^  and 
such  as  reach  their  best-known  delineation  in  the  "dark 

^*  There  is  a  passage  in  his  prose  works  which  indicates  very  clearly 
how  fully  Greene  recognized  this  type  of  beauty  as  wholly  conventional. 
Young  men,  he  says,  "worke  their  own  woe,  penning  downe  ditties, 
songs,  sonnets,  madrigals,  and  such  like,  shadowed  over  with  the 
pensell  of  flatterie,  where  from  the  fictions  of  poets  they  fetche  the 
type  and  figure  of  their  f ayned  affection :  first,  decyphering  hir  beauty 
to  bee  more  than  superlative,  comparing  hir  face  unto  Venus,  hir 
haire  unto  golde,  hir  eyes  unto  starres,"  etc.     Vol.  IX.,  p.  292. 

«  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  62. 

*^  Vol.  III.,  p.  123.  Greene  had  a  habit  of  repeating  himself.  This 
description  of  Silvestro's  Lady  is  used  again,  with  some  variations 
and  omissions,  as  the  description  of  Maesia  in  Fareivell  to  Follie,  Vol. 
IX.,  p.  266. 

**  An  interesting  example  of  this  variation  of  description  is  to  be 
found  in  the  singing  match  (the  only  real  example  of  this  type  of 
poetry  in  Greene)  between  Menaphon  and  Melicertus,  both  singers 
aiming  to  set  forth  the  beauties  of  the  same  woman. 

«  Sonnet  No.  7. 


136  ROBERT   GREENE 

lady"  of  the  Shakespeare  Sonnets, —  exceptions  which  Sir 
Sidney  Lee  maintains  *®  are  distinctively  the  reflection  of 
French  influence  from  men  like  Amadis  Jamyn. 

These  poems  in  praise  of  women's  charms,  which  connect 
Greene  with  the  newer  movements  in  English  poetry,  lead 
easily  to  another  of  his  themes,  which  connects  him  definitely 
with  the  older  school  in  a  tradition  which  extends  back  into 
the  Middle  Ages.  Greene's  first  extant  poem  belongs  to  this 
class  —  the  satires  on  women.  His  interest  in  this  theme, 
however,  seems  to  have  been  slight.  He  has  only  four 
poems  on  it:  one  attacking  particularly  women's  following 
of  fashion,  and  their  desire  for  fine  clothes;  ^'^  one  on  the 

t  curse  of  women's  beauty  ;^^  one  on  their  pride  in  their 
beauty;  ^^  and  the  last  one  on  the  censure  of  their  " blab- 
bing," ^°  As  a  variation  to  the  satires  on  women,  there  are 
a  couple  of  poems  against  courtezans.^^ 

Another  interest  which  connects  Greene  with  the  past  is 
his  group  of  poems  on  gnomic  themes.  The  gnomic  poems 
belong  to  the  latter  half  of  his  career,  none  being  earlier 
than  1587.  After  this  date,  he  wrote  on  various  subjects, 
jealousy,  the  shortness  of  life,  the  triumph  of  truth,  ambition, 
discontent,  gluttony,  wit,  and  fortune.  We  have  seen  how 
strongly  Greene  was  dominated  in  his  romances  by  the  idea  of 
Fortune,  and  so  we  are  surprised  to  find  only  two  poems  on  this 
theme  —  both  of  them  on  the  despising  of  Fortune's  power. 

Fortune's  anger  was  thought  to  strike  most  violently  in 
lofty  places.  The  lowly  life  was  therefore  considered  safest; 
and  he  who  was  contented  with  his  humble  lot  thus  held 
the  power  of  Fortune  in  despite.  This  theme  of  contentment 
was  common  enough  among  the  Elizabethan  poets.     Greene 

•**  The  French  Renaissance  in  England.  1910.  p.  273. 
"  Vol.  II.,  p.  249.  «  Vol.  IX.,  p.  24. 

"  Vol.  IX.,  p.  25.  50  /j,.^  p.  88. 

"  Vol.  X.,  p.  200.     Vol.  XII ,  p.  129. 


THE   POETRY  .  137 

wrote  three  poems  on  it,^^  among  them  his  perhaps  most 
celebrated  song, 

"Sweet  are  the  thoughts  that  savour  of  content, 
The  quiet  mind  is  better  than  a  crowne." 

We  pass  now  to  another  group  of  poems, — the  Anac- 
reontics. In  1554  there  was  pubhshed  in  France,  by  Henri 
Estienne,  an  edition  of  the  poems  of  Anacreon,  or  rather 
of  the  poems  thought  to  be  his.  This  edition  had  great 
influence  upon  the  poets  of  the  Pleiade.  It  was  almost 
immediately  translated  in  full  by  Remy  Belleau,  and  was  to 
be  seen  thenceforth  in  many  forms  —  translations,  adapta- 
tions, imitations  —  by  various  of  Belleau's  colleagues.  The 
Anacreontic  vein,  and  to  some  extent,  that  of  the  Greek 
Anthology  with  which  they  were  already  familiar,  the 
French  poets  shortly  assimilated.  And  through  the  work 
of  these  men  (and  possibly  through  the  original  tongue  as 
well)  the  Anacreontic  poems  became  influential  in  England. 
We  find  Greene  a  sharer  in  this  movement,  nowhere  more 
clearly  than  in  a  direct  translation  from  the  Pseudo- 
Anacreon  itself.  This  is  the  celebrated  Number  Thirty 
One,  which  he  translates  as  "Cupid  abroade  was  lated  in 
the  night."  This  poem  was  one  evidently  which  appealed 
to  him,  for  he  used  it,  with  very  slight  changes,  in  two 
different  novels.^^  Needless  to  say,  after  the  manner  of 
other  Elizabethan  poets,  he  nowhere  indicates  either  the 
source  of  the  poem  itself  or  the  fact  that  he  is  reproducing 
his  own  translation.** 

"  Vol.  v.,  p.  179;   Vol.  VIII.,  p.  29;   Vol.  IX.,  p.  279. 

"  Alcida,  Vol.  IX.,  p.  99;    Orpharion,  Vol.  XII.,  p.  73. 

^*  Greene's  translation  is  printed  also  in  Davison's  Poetical  Rhapsody 
(Ed.  Bullen,  1891.  Vol.  II.,  p.  86)  where  there  are  translations  of  three 
of  Anacreon's  Odes  by  A.  W.  Two  of  these  three  are  translated  "other- 
wise," the  second  by  Thomas  Spehnan  (or  Spilman)  and  the  third  by 
Greene. 


138  ROBERT   GREENE 

Of  the  other  poems  of  the  group,  it  cannot  be  said  whether 
they  are  original  with  Greene  or  not.  Perhaps  he  is  again 
trying  his  hand  at  experimentation;  at  least  no  originals, 
either  Greek  or  French,  are  known.  Whether  original  or 
copied,  some  of  these  poems  are  in  Greene's  lightest  style, 
and  mark  him  clearly  as  distinct  from  the  older  poets  of 
the  Miscellanies.  Mars  in  a  rage  at  Venus  moves  against 
her  in  arms.^^  Cupid  is  afraid  for  his  mother's  life.  She 
bids  him  be  not  afraid.  Trimming  her  hair,  making  herself 
beautiful,  carrying  a  fan  of  silver  feathers,  she  goes  in  a 
coach  of  ebony  past  the  place  where  Mars  is  standing.  She 
frowns.  In  fear  Mars  throws  his  armor  down  and  vows 
repentance.  Venus  becomes  gracious.  Thus  can  woman's 
looks  subdue  the  greatest  god  in  arms.  All  this  in  twenty- 
four  lines  of  a  degree  of  polish  unknowTi  before  the  time  of 
Greene,  and  known  only  to  a  few  of  his  contemporaries, 
such  as  Lyly,  Peele,  or  Spenser, 

In  another  song  of  Greene's  we  have  the  same  delicacy  of 
execution,  but  the  delicacy  is  mingled  with  a  suggestive 
sensualness  which  somewhat  mars  the  poem, 

".   .   .  then  though  I  wanton  it  awry, 
And  play  the  wag:  from  Adon  this  I  get, 
I  am  but  young  and  may  be  wanton  yet."  * 

One  other  only  of  these  poems  need  be  spoken  of,  the  song 
in  Ciceronis  Amor,^'^  "Fond  faining  Poets  make  of  Love  a 
god,"  worth  notice  as  reflecting  the  then  prevalent  poetizing 
about  the  nature  of  Cupid  and  the  extent  of  his  power. 
Greene  says  he  is  no  god,  as  many  foolish  poets  think,  and 
proves  him  "but  a  boy  not  past  the  rod."^^ 

66  Vol.  VII.,  p.  133.       6B  Vol.  VII.,  p.  88.        "  Vol.  VII.,  p.  136. 

6*  A  similar  conception  is  to  be  found  in  Thomas  Watson's  Tears 
of  Fancie,  1593.  Sonnet  I.  "I  helde  him  (Cupid)  as  a  boy  not  past 
the  rod." 

Another  playful  disbelief  in  the  divinity  of  Cupid  is  expressed  by 


THE    POETRY  139 

There  is  one  group  of  poems  left,  a  rather  large  group 
of  repentance  poems.  Dyce,  and  Grosart  especially,  have 
emphasized  the  repentant  note  in  Greene's  work  as  a  char- 
acteristic of  him,  and  have  attempted  to  establish  a  canon 
thereby  by  which  to  judge  certain  works,  the  authorship 
of  which  has  been  discussed  in  connection  with  Greene's 
name.  It  is  natural,  perhaps,  in  view  of  the  prodigal-son 
romances,  to  emphasize  this  side  of  Greene's  activity.  But 
it  may  be  seriously  doubted  whether  there  is  more  than  a 
reflection  of  the  general  tendency  toward  this  sort  of  poetic 
theme,  and  whether  Greene  is  not  merely  doing  the  thing 
which  had  begun  long  before  his  time,  and  which  con- 
tinued long  after.  At  least  many  examples  of  repentant 
poems  can  be  found  among  the  poets  of  the  age,  some 
of  which  show  a  degree  of  real  religious  feeling,  but  more 
of  which  reveal,  as  Greene's  most  often  do,  only  the  con- 
ventional repentant  ideas,  sorrow  for  the  sins  of  youth,  and 
so  forth. 

The  one  of  Greene's  poems  which  really  contains  what 
has  been  called  the  "characteristic"  repentant  note  of 
which  Grosart  spoke  so  often  is  the  group  of  verses  in  the 
Groatsworth  of  Wit, 

"Deceyving  world  that  with  alluring  toys, 
Hast  made  my  life  the  subject  of  thy  scorne, 

O  that  a  yeere  were  graunted  me  to  live, 
And  for  that  yeare  my  former  wit  restorde, 
What  rules  of  life,  what  counsell  would  I  give? 
How  should  my  sinne  with  sorrow  be  deplorde? 
But  I  must  die  of  every  man  abhorde, 
Time  loosely  spent  will  not  againe  be  woone, 
My  time  is  loosely  spent,  and  I  undone."  ^' 

Thomas   Howell   in   his   Devises,    1581    (Ed.    Raleigh,    1906,    p.    69). 
Howell  says  that  Cupid  is  no  god  at  all,  but  —  a  devil. 
53  Vol.  XII.,  p.  137. 


140  ROBERT   GREENE 

These  verses  are  seemingly  autobiographical.  At  least  they 
are  as  autobiographical  as  the  novel  in  which  they  were 
printed.  But  whether  or  not  they  express  repentance  for 
an  actual  past  line  of  conduct,  they  certainly  do  convey  a 
considerable  amount  of  genuine  feeling  from  a  real  or  an 
imagined  experience. 

The  rest  of  Greene's  repentant  poems  are,  I  think,  purely 
conventional.  In  a  few  cases  he  mingles  the  conventional 
repentance  with  the  conventional  description  of  a  woman, 
the  beauty  of  the  woman  being  the  cause  of  the  manner  of 
life  for  which  repentance  later  on  is  necessary.  Francesco 
is  thinking  of  Isabel,*^  his  wife,  and  of  how  he  has  gone 
astray  with  Infida.  His  wanton  eyes  drew  him  to  gaze  on 
beauty;  he  saw  her  charms  —  her  milk-white  brow,  her  face 
like  silver  tainted  with  vermilion,  her  golden  hair,  —  and 
these  beauties  entrapped  him  to  sin.  By  these  he  slipped 
from  virtue's  path.  Now  despair  and  sorrow  overcome  him. 
"Wo  worth  the  faults  and  follies  of  mine  eie." 

In  the  song  which  the  country  swain  sings  "at  the  return 
of  Philador"  we  have  a  repentant  poem  intermingled  with 
narrative  elements.  There  is  an  elaborate  description  of 
evening  "  and  of  old  Menalcus  who  sits  mourning.  He  is 
bewailing  his  past.  He  had  fed  sheep,  secure  from  Fortune's 
ire.  Then  he  had  become  ambitious  and  had  gone  to  the  city, 
where  he  followed  in  evil  ways.  In  conclusion  he  has  repented 
of  his  wickedness,  and  has  come  back  to  the  country  to  sing, 
"...  therefore  farewell  the  follies  of  my  youth."  " 

so  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  92. 

*^  There  are  several  other  instances  of  elaborate  settings.  In  Never 
too  Late  (Vol.  VIII.,  p.  50)  the  scene  is  a  riverside,  there  are  flowers. 
It  is  April.  A  lady  enters,  sits  down,  and  begins  to  speak.  In  the  same 
novel  (p.  68)  a  poem  opens  with  Nature  quiet,  the  sky  clear,  the  air 
still,  the  birds  singing.  In  Philomela  (Vol.  XI.,  p.  133)  the  time  is 
winter,  there  are  frosts,  and  leafless  trees.     A  shepherd  is  sighing. 

•^  In  the  Paradise  of  Daintie  Devises  (Ed.  Brydges  and  Haslewood, 


THE   POETRY  141 

In  Francescos  Fortunes  occurs  "  a  series  of  repentant  stanzas. 
There  is  a  stanza  for  each  sign  of  the  zodiac,  dealing  with 
the  season  (and  often  with  country  life),  and  ending  with 
the  statement  that  the  seasons  will  call  repentance  to  mind. 
The  lines  are  written  on  the  wall  as  a  "testament"  to  serve 
Francesco  as  a  remembrancer  of  his  follies,  and,  in  spite  of 
their  monotony  of  style,  have  a  dignity  and  effectiveness  of 
movement  which  one  would  not  expect  in  a  poem  of  this 
kind. 

Another  repentant  poem  is  the  dialogue  between  the  grass- 
hopper and  the  ant,**  entirely  along  the  lines  of  the  fable, — 
the  spendthrift  and  repentant  grasshopper,  and  the  frugal, 
inhospitable,  unforgiving  ant.  Greene  is  like  the  grass- 
hopper. Too  late  he  has  realized  that  night,  and  that 
winter,  would  come. 

There  remains  a  final  group  of  three  or  four  miscellaneous 
poems  which  cannot  be  classed  with  any  of  the  groups  spoken 
of  above.  One  of  these  is  an  Epitaph**  on  the  heroine  of 
a  romance,  one  an  oracle,**  one  a  hermit's  exordium,*^ —  a 
curious  poem  on  the  power  of  the  Bible  to  overcome  Satan. 
The  last  one  is  among  the  best-known  of  Greene's  poems, 
Sephestia's  Lullaby,  the 

"Weepe  not  my  wanton  smile  upon  my  knee, 
When  thou  art  olde  thers  griefe  inough  for  thee." 

Lullabies  are  comparatively  rare  in  Elizabethan  poetry,  so 
rare  that  one  does  not  expect  to  find  an  example,  so  exquisite 
an  example,  among  the  poems  of  Greene. 

The  British  Bibliographer,  Vol.  III.,  p.  97),  M.  Hunnis  has  a  poem  with 
a   similar  refrain, 

"Good  Lord  with  mercie  doe  forgive  the  follies  of  my  youth," 
merely  an  illustration  of  a  common  theme  and  a  common  phraseology. 

«  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  223.  64  Vol.  XII.,  p.  146. 

«5  Vol.  IV.,  p.  264.  «  Vol.  VI.,  p.  34. 

"  Vol.  VII.,  p.  29. 


142  ROBERT   GREENE 

All  the  poems  so  far  spoken  of  were  written  in  connection 
with  the  romances.  We  turn  now  to  the  one  poem  from 
Greene's  pen  which  was  not  so  written,  A  Maiden's  Dreame,^^ 
printed  in  1591,  "upon  the  Death  of  the  right  Honorable  Sir 
Christopher  Hatton  Knight,  late  Lord  Chancellor  of  Eng- 
land," ^^  who  died  on  November  twentieth  of  that  year. 
It  is  an  example  of  the  dream,  or  vision,  poetry  so  common 
in  our  earlier  literature.  A  maiden  falls  asleep  and  dreams. 
She  seems  to  be  near  a  spring,  about  which  are  sundry  god- 
desses. A  knight  lies  there  dead,  clad  all  in  armor.  Over 
the  body  of  the  knight  each  of  the  goddesses  utters  her 
complaint, —  Justice,  Prudence,  Fortitude,  Temperance, 
Bountie,  Hospitalitie,  Religion.  All  these  grieve  bitterly. 
More  than  anything  else  it  is  their  uncontrolled  passion 
which  mars  the  poem.  The  oft-repetitions  of  the  ending  of 
each  complaint, 

"At  this  her  sighes  and  sorrowes  were  so  sore: 
And  so  she  wept  that  she  could  speak  no  more," 

become,  far  from  effective,  after  a  while  even  ridiculous. 

There  is  another  poem  not  found  in  a  novel  which  has 
been  associated  with  Greene's  name.  This  is  A  Most  Rare 
and  Excellent  Dreame,  Learnedly  Set  Downe  by  a  Woorthy 
Gentleman,  a  Brave  Schollar,  and  M.  of  Aries  in  Both  Univer- 
sities, printed  in  the  Phoenix  Nest,  1593."  As  Mr.  Child 
suggests,''^  this  may  be  the  work  of  Greene.     We  know  that 

68  Vol.  XIV.,  p.  301. 

6^  "This  poem  had  long  disappeared,  and  was  not  known  to  be  in 
existence  till  1845,  when  it  was  discovered  by  Mr.  James  P.  Reardon, 
who  sent  a  transcript  of  it  to  the  Council  of  the  Shakespeare  Society, 
among  whose  papers  it  was  printed  (Vol.  II.,  pp.  127-45)."  Collins, 
Introduction  to  A  Maidens  Dreame.  Plays  and  Poems  of  Robert  Greene. 
1905.  Vol.  II.,  p.  219. 

"  Collier's  Reprint,  p.  45. 

'1  Cambridge  History  of  English  Literature,  Vol.  IV.,  p.  135. 


THE    POETRY  143 

certain  papers  of  Greene's  were  in  the  hands  of  printers 
after  his  death  in  the  previous  year.  The  "M.  of  Artes 
in  Both  Universities"  sounds  Hke  Greene,  surely.  And 
there  is  nothing  in  the  poem  which  is  contrary  to  Greene's 
genius.  Still  there  were  other  "Masters  of  Artes  in  Both 
Universities,"  there  were  other  poets  who  wrote  poems  of 
the  type  of  the  Excellent  Dreame.  There  was  so  much  that 
was  conventional  in  poems  of  the  kind,  and  there  is  so  little 
in  this  poem  —  except  its  rather  unusual  length  —  to  dis- 
tinguish it  from  a  hundred  other  poems  on  the  same  theme, 
that  I  do  not  believe  that  we  can  say  definitely  either  that 
it  is  or  that  it  is  not  the  work  of  Greene. 

The  poem  opens  with  an  extended  discussion  on  the  cause 
of  dreams,  after  the  mediaeval  manner.  Then  follows  the 
visit  of  a  lady  to  her  sleeping  lover.  The  lover  (in  the  first 
person)  describes  her  beauties  and  tells  of  his  restless  and 
hopeless  state.  The  lady  and  he  discuss  the  subject  of  love 
at  some  length.  She  is  firm  in  her  denials,  and  he  faints 
away  in  a  swoon.  Thereupon  she,  fearing  that  he  is  dead, 
relents;  and  the  lover  comes  back  to  life  and  the  waking 
state. 

We  may  now  summarize  briefly.  Throughout,  we  have 
seen  in  Greene  a  mirror  of  the  poetical  mterests  of  the  time. 
It  is  true  that  there  are  many  of  its  phases  which  are  not 
represented  in  his  work.  He  has  not  the  vaunt  of  immor- 
tality which  so  obsessed  the  poets  of  the  Pleiade,  and  which 
came  to  be  characteristic  of  the  English  sonneteers  of  the 
following  decade.  There  are  many  themes  at  which  he  does 
not  try  his  hand.  He  has  no  poems  which  are  plays  on 
words,  no  epistles  between  personages  of  classical  history, 
no  songs  to  Spring,  no  wedding  songs,  no  poems  in  praise  of 
virginity,  or  on  the  theme  of  "try  before  you  trust,"  no 
tributes  to  deceased  friends,  no  epitaphs.  These  and  other 
themes  find  no  representative  in  Greene's  volumes.     But  in 


144  ROBERT   GREENE 

spite  of  these  omissions,  Greene's  poetry  does  to  a  very  con- 
siderable degree  coincide  with  the  main  currents  of  endeavor. 
We  have  noted  his  love  poems,  with  their  variations  of  theme, 
his  pastoralism,  his  descriptions  of  people,  his  satires  on 
women,  his  gnomic  verse,  his  Anacreontic,  and  repentant, 
poems.  All  of  these  together  identify  him  with  the  past, 
the  present,  and  the  future  of  his  time.  Sometimes  in  his 
choice  of  themes  he  is  continuing  a  tradition  which  comes 
dowTi  from  the  Middle  Ages,  sometimes  he  is  pushing  his 
way  forward  in  experimentation.  Most  often  he  is  simply 
doing  what  he  sees  others  doing, —  a  follower  of  fashion. 

Ill 

Greene  is  typical  of  the  period,  both  in  his  use  of  metres 
already  developed  and  in  his  love  of  making  experiments  in 
verse  forms.  Most  of  the  poetical  measures  attracted  his 
attention.  These  he  sometimes  employed  just  as  he  found 
them  at  hand.  Often,  however,  he  employed  them  as  the 
bases  of  experimentation  which,  more  frequently  than  in 
any  other  way,  took  on  the  shape  of  new  combinations  of 
old  forms. 

Greene's  favorite  metre,  and  it  was  the  favorite  metre  of 
most  of  the  poets  who  wrote  between  the  time  of  the  decay 
of  the  poulter's  measure  and  that  of  the  revival  of  the 
sonnet,  was  the  six-line  iambic  pentameter  stanza  riming 
ababcc.  About  twenty-five  of  his  poems,  or  more  than  a 
hundred  stanzas,  have  this  structure.  He  uses  it,  without 
discrimination  as  to  theme,  for  all  conceivable  subjects: 
love  songs,  songs  of  contentment.  Anacreontics,  pastorals, 
repentances,  or  gnomic  verses.  More  often  than  not,  the 
metre  is  used  in  its  ordinary,  simple  form. 

This  six-line  stanza  is  also  used  in  other  ways.  In  several 
poems  the  concluding  couplet  of  the  stanza  takes  on  the 


THE    POETRY  145 

nature  of  a  refrain  and  is  used  in  the  same  form,  or  in  an 
appropriate  variant  form  as  the  individual  stanza  may  re- 
quire, throughout  the  poem.  In  one  case,'^  the  sixth  line 
only  is  so  used.  In  the  Song  of  Arion,^^  there  are  three 
stanzas  of  this  form,  plus  a  concluding  stanza  of  two  heroic 
couplets.  Lamilia's  Song  in  the  Groatsworth  of  WW*  con- 
sists of  two  stanzas.  The  first  four  lines  of  each  are  in  con- 
formity to  the  type,  but  the  couplet  at  the  end,  very  slightly 
in  the  nature  of  a  refrain,  is  of  hexameters  instead  of  the 
regular  pentameters.  The  poem  is  made  somewhat  more 
elaborate,  too,  by  the  use  of  a  light-tripping  refrain,  thrice 
used, —  before  the  first  stanza,  after  the  second,  and  between 
the  two.  This  refrain  is  a  quatrain,  abab,  a  being  feminine, 
and  each  foot  consisting  of  an  iambic  and  an  anapestic: 

"Fie,  fie  on  blind  f ancle, 
It  hinders  youths  joy: 
Fayre  Virgins  learne  by  me, 
To  count  love  a  toy." 

Finally  in  the  fable  of  the  grasshopper  and  the  ant,''^  we  have 
three  stanzas  of  this  metre,  intermingled  with  quatrains  and 
prose. 

The  ababcc  stanza  was  in  use  in  both  pentameter  and 
tetrameter  forms.  Greene  nowhere  uses  the  tetrameter 
form  in  its  strict  application.  But  he  does  write  a  variant 
tetrameter  stanza  ''^  in  which  the  first  and  third  lines  do  not 
rime,  as  one  expects,  so  that  we  have  the  scheme,  xbybcc. 

Greene's  next  most  important  metre  is  the  tetrameter 
couplet.  This  metre  he  uses  in  fifteen  poems,  and  in  doing 
so  is  following  a  fashion  by  no  means  so  common  as  that  of 

"  Francescos  Roundelay,  Vol.,  VIII  p.  92. 

"  Vol.  XII.,  p.  65. 

'*  Vol.  XII.,  p.  113. 

'5  Vol.  XII.,  p.  147. 

«  Vol.  III.,  p.  180;   Vol.  IV.,  p.  264. 


146  ROBERT   GREENE 

the  stanza  just  spoken  of.  The  use  of  the  form  itself  was 
comparatively  rare  before  Greene's  time,  and  the  employ- 
ment of  trochaics  in  that  form  was  even  rarer.  In  fact  the 
use  of  any  foot  but  the  iambic  was  unusual.'^  Tusser,  to 
be  sure,  regularly  used  the  tetrameter  couplet  in  anapests, 
sometimes  combining  seven  such  couplets  to  make  a  "son- 
net." ^^  But  Tusser's  work  is  sporadic  rather  than  typical. 
In  the  Paradise  of  Dayntie  Devises  the  tetrameter  couplet 
is  used,^^  but  here  it  is  in  iambics.  And  the  tetrameter 
couplet  was  used  to  a  considerable  extent  by  Turberville.^" 
In  Turberville,  however,  as  in  the  older  poets  where  the  form 
is  occasionally  found,  the  foot  is  almost  invariably  iambic. 
It  is  not  until  we  come  to  the  work  of  Greene  and  Nicholas 
Breton  that  we  find  the  trochee  a  staple  element  in  verse 
construction,  —  thenceforth  common  enough,  in  the  seven 
syllable,  or  truncated  four-accent  line,  with  many  a  later 
song  writer.  Indeed  it  may  perhaps  be  said  that  this 
couplet,  in  the  poetry  of  Greene,  Breton,  Shakespeare, 
Barnfield,  Browne,  and  Wither,  supplanted  the  ahabcc 
form  just  as  that  itself  had  taken  the  place  of  the  poulter's 
measure  and  the  fourteener  as  the  popular  verse  form. 

Professor  Schelling  thinks  it  reasonable  to  regard  the 
English  trochaic  measures  "not  so  much  as  attempts  to 
follow  a  foreign  metrical  system,  as  a  continuance  of  the 
original  freedom  of  English  verse  as  to  the  distribution  of 

''"'  Gascoigne:  —  "Note  you  that  commonly  now  a  dayes  in  English 
rimes  (for  I  dare  not  call  them  English  verses)  we  use  none  other  order 
but  a  foote  of  two  sillables,  wherof  the  first  is  depressed  or  made  short, 
and  the  second  is  elevate  or  made  long;  and  that  sound  or  scanning 
continueth  throughout  the  verse."  Certayne  Notes  of  Instruction. 
Elizabethan  Critical  Essays.  Ed.  Gregory  Smith,  1904.  Vol.  1., 
p.  50. 

'8  British  Bibliographer,  ed.  Brydges  and  Haslewood,  Vol.  III.,  p.  20. 

"  lb.     The  perfect  tryall  of  a  faythfull  freend.     Yloop. 

80  Ed.  Chambers,  Vol.  II. 


THE   POETRY  147 

syllables." ^^  And  he  proceeds  to  state  that  "most  English 
troehaics  show  a  tendency  to  revert  back  to  the  more  usual 
iambic  system  by  the  addition  of  an  initial  unaccented 
syllable."  In  illustration  of  the  tendency,  he  cites  Greene's 
Ode/2  a  poem  of  thirty-six  lines,  of  which  ten  are,  as  he  says, 
iambic,  the  rest  trochaic.  In  this  particular  case,  the  illus- 
tration bears  out  the  statement.^^  But  unless  we  expand  with 
an  unusual  looseness  the  meaning  of  the  word  tendency  I 
cannot  believe  that  the  statement  of  Professor  Schelling  is 
of  great  significance,  so  far  as  Greene  is  concerned.  To  be 
sure,  several  of  his  poems  are  about  evenly  divided  as  to 
iambic  and  trochaic  feet.  On  the  other  hand,  we  must 
acknowledge  that  Greene's  feeling  for  trochees  is  pretty 
well  developed  when  we  find  him  writing  a  poem  of  thirty- 
eight  lines''^  of  which  practically  one  hundred  per  cent  are 
in  strict  conformity  to  rule,  and  when  we  find  ten  other 
poems  in  which  the  per  cent  of  trochees  is  equal  to  ninety 
or  above. 

The  next  in  importance  of  Greene's  metres  is  his  blank 
verse.  He  has  ten  poems  in  this  metre,  about  225  lines. 
It  cannot  be  said  that  he  used  blank  verse  to  any  great 
advantage  (I  am  not  referring  to  the  dramas  at  all),  or  that 
he  had  any  conception  of  its  possibilities.  He  very  seldom 
ends  a  thought  elsewhere  than  at  the  end  of  a  line,  and  he 
makes  nothing  of  the  caesura  as  an  element  of  artistic  con- 
struction. His  blank  verse  has  more  of  the  qualities  of  the 
heroic  couplet  than  of  blank  verse  proper,  except  that  it 
does  not  rime.     Very  often  indeed,  he  intermingles  heroic 

^1  Elizabethan  Lyrics,  ed.  Schelling,  1895.     Introduction,  p.  xl. 

82  Vol  XL,  p.  123. 

83  An  even  better  illustration  might  have  been  the  poem  (Vol.  IX., 
p.  201)  of  eighty-eight  lines  in  which  twenty-five  per  cent  only  are 
trochaic;  or  the  description  of  Chaucer  (Vol.  XII  ,  p.  209)  of  which  only 
one-fifth  is  in  this  measure. 

"  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  13. 


148  ROBERT   GREENE 

couplets  in  his  blank  verse;  and  nearly  all  of  his  blank 
verse  poems  have  one  or  more  couplets  at  the  end. 

Like  his  trochaic  tetrameter  couplet,  Greene's  blank  verse 
is  of  some  interest  in  the  history  of  English  prosody.  The 
use  of  blank  verse  in  TotteVs  Miscellany,  by  Surrey  and 
Grimald,  has  often  been  spoken  of,  as  has  the  blank  verse 
of  Gascoigne's  Steel  Glas  (1576).*^  But  outside  of  these 
instances  and  of  the  drama,  blank  verse  was  very  rare  in  the 
sixteenth  century.  It  was  especially  rare  in  the  use  to  which 
Greene  put  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  blank  verse  lyrics  are 
so  seldom  to  be  met  with  in  the  history  of  English  poetry 
in  any  of  its  periods  as  to  make  even  the  rather  insignificant 
ones  of  Greene  worth  a  casual  mention. 

Nine  of  Greene's  poems  are  in  quatrains.  Five  of  these 
are  iambic  pentameter,  riming  abab.  One  of  these  abab 
quatrains*^  is  a  little  irregular  in  having  after  each  two 
lines  a  short  line  of  five  or  six  syllables.  Three  poems  are 
in  iambic  pentameter  quatrains,  but  these  rime  abba.  One 
other  poem^^  is  not  really  a  quatrain  at  all,  being  merely 
fourteeners  printed  as  broken  lines,  as  was  the  custom  of 
the  day.^^ 

Of  the  heroic  couplet  there  is  very  little  use  in  Greene's 
poetry.  He  has  but  one  poem  in  that  kind  of  couplets, 
and   it   is  very  short  —  only  six  lines.^^    We  have  seen, 

*'  One  might  perhaps  mention  the  blank  verse  of  Spenser's  earlier 
translation  of  the  Visions  of  Bellay  (Grosart,  Vol.  III.,  p.  231).  These 
Spenser  later  rewrote. 

««  Vol.  VI.,  p.  65. 

"  Vol.  III.,  p.  248. 

^  The  absence  from  Greene's  poetry  of  fourteeners,  with  this  one 
exception,  and  of  the  poulter's  measure  altogether,  is  interesting  as 
showing  to  what  extent  these  metres  had  decreased  in  popularity  as 
lyric  forms.  From  being  the  almost  universal  measures  of  the  sixties 
and  seventies,  they  have  become  by  Greene's  time  almost  archaic. 

"  Vol.  X.,  p.  200. 


THE    POETRY  149 

however,  that  Greene  almost  always  used  pentameter 
couplets  in  connection  with  his  blank  verse. 

Various  other  metres  were  used  by  Greene  at  different 
times.  These  may  be  dismissed  somewhat  briefly,  before 
we  come  to  the  elaborate  stanzas  which  he  was  so  fond  of 
using.  One  of  these  metres  is  the  rime  royal,  in  which 
Greene's  longest  poem  is  written.^"  Another  use  to  which 
Greene  put  the  rime  royal  is  the  combination  of  two  such 
stanzas  to  make  what  he  called  a  "sonnet."*^  It  is  hard 
to  say  whether  Greene  meant  these  to  be  sonnets  or  not. 
The  fact,  however,  that  in  the  short  poems  the  stanzas  of 
rime  royal  always  occur  in  groups  of  two  or  four  may,  even 
though  the  stanzas  are  printed  separated,  indicate  that 
Greene  had  in  his  mind  a  poem  to  consist  of  fourteen  lines 
or  a  multiple  of  fourteen  lines,  no  matter  of  what  those 
fourteen  lines  might  consist. 

Of  the  sonnet  proper  Greene  makes  practically  no  use. 
In  view  of  the  excessive  amount  of  sonneteering  which  had 
already  begun  before  his  death  this  absence  is  interesting. 
There  are  only  three  real  sonnets,  —  if  a  sonnet  may  be  de- 
fined as  merely  a  one-stanza  poem  of  fourteen  lines,  —  and 
no  two  of  these  are  alike.  One  of  them  follows^-  the  rime 
scheme  abbaaccadeedff,  with  the  division  in  thought  into  the 
octave  and  sestette,  but  not  into  the  smaller  divisions  of 
quatrain  and  triplet.  Another  ^^  consists  of  three  abba 
quatrains  (all  different)  with  a  concluding  couplet.  Still  a 
third  ^^ — if  it  be  Greene's — is  of  the  regular  Shakesperiantype. 

^°  A  Maidens  Dreame.  Whether  or  not  the  Rare  and  Excelent 
Dreame  of  the  Phoenix  Nest  is  Greene's,  it  also  is  in  rime  royal. 

"  For  example,  Vol.  XI.,  p.  142;   Vol.  XII.,  p.  137. 

«  Vol.  XII.,  p.  129.  93  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  169. 

5^  Collins'  ed.  Vol.  II.,  p.  248.  None  of  the  earlier  editions  of 
Menaphon  contain  this  poem  entitled,  "Dorastus  (in  Love-passion) 
writes  these  lines  in  Praise  of  his  loving  and  best-beloved  Fawnia." 
Although  Collins  and  Dyce  reprint  it  from  editions  of  the  late  seven- 


150  ROBERT   GREENE 

Ten-line  sonnets  were  not  uncommon  during  the  period; 
Greene  has  two  of  them, —  Shakesperian  sonnets  with  one 
of  the  quatrains  left  out.  One  of  these  ten-line  sonnets 
forms  the  second  stanza  of  the  third  poem  just  mentioned 
above. 

The  ottava  rima  has  one  example,  the  repentance  poem 
spoken  of  above,  which  devotes  a  stanza  to  each  of  the  signs 
of  the  zodiac.  Another  poem^^  seems  to  consist  of  two 
ten-stress  couplets  with  lines  divided  to  make  eight  five- 
stress  lines,  plus  two  five-stress  couplets,  twelve  lines  in  all. 
The  last  of  these  isolated  metres  is  in  Menaphon's  Song  to 
Pesana.^®  Here  we  have  a  poem  of  twelve  lines  of  which 
the  simplest  analysis  seems  to  be  that  it  consists  of  iambic 
pentameter  couplets,  each  line  followed  (thus  breaking  up 
the  couplet)  by  a  short  line  of  five  or  six  syllables,  and  the 
short  lines  also  riming.     Thus: 

U-|<J-1U-|U-|U-  a 

U  -  I  U  -  I  O  b 

U-lU-lU-|U-|0-  a 

U  -  1  O  -  I  U  b 

In  the  experiments  with  classical  metres  Greene  took 
little  part.  He  attempted  a  couple  of  poems  ^^  in  Latin,  one 
in  the  Sapphic,  and  one  in  the  elegiac,  measure.  But  with 
neither  of  these,  nor  with  any  other  stanzaic  measure  did 
he  work  in  English.  His  sole  experimentation  was  con- 
fined to  the  writing  of  English  hexameters.  In  the  four 
poems  which  he  wrote  in  this  measure, ^^  Greene  in  no  way 

teenth  century,  it  seems  reasonable  at  least  to  retain  some  doubt  as 
to  its  authenticity. 

s"*  Vol.  III.,  p.  125. 

8"  Vol.  VI.,  p.  105. 

9'  Vol.  VII.,  p.  125;   ib.,  p.  145. 

^  Vol.  II.,  p.  219;  Vol.  IX.,  p.  151;  lb.,  p.  159;  lb..,  p.  293. 


THE    POETRY  151 

followed  the  laws  of  Roman  verse  construction.  Instead  he 
preserved  the  customary  English  accents,  and  made  them 
coincide  with  the  metrical  stress. 

It  is  not  surprising  to  find  that  the  classical  metres  made 
small  appeal  to  Greene  whose  real  poetic  ability  lay  in 
fanciful  and  sentimental  songs  in  short-lined,  and,  we  shall 
soon  see,  in  capriciously  elaborate  measures.  With  a  talent 
of  such  a  nature  he  would  have  felt  himself  bound  down  by 
the  restrictions  of  the  Latin  models,  and  so  it  is  true  that 
"he  could  never  have  cultivated  the  classic  metres  with  any 
considerable  result."  ^^ 

In  two  of  his  poems  Greene  revives  an  old-time  custom 
of  intermingling  French  and  English.  One  of  these  poems  ^"^ 
consists  of  nine  stanzas,  each  of  two  lines  of  English  and 
four  lines  of  French, —  the  French  portion  being  the  same 
in  all  the  stanzas. 

Sweet  Adon',  darst  not  glaunce  thine  eye, 

N'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  amy? 
Upon  thy  Venus  that  must  die, 

Je  vous  en  prie,  pitie  me: 
N'oserez  vous,  mon  bel,  mon  bel, 

N'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  amy? 

Greene's  second  poem  of  this  kind  is  one  of  seventeen  lines 
divided  into  three  parts.^"^  These  parts  are  all  extremely 
irregular,  and  contain,  between  them  all,  six  lines  of  French. 
We  now  come  to  the  numerous  elaborated  stanzas  which 
Greene  employed.  These  may  perhaps  be  best  taken  up 
singly  in  the  order  in  which  they  occur  in  the  novels.  The 
first  of  these,  and  one  of  the  most  complicated  stanzas  not 

93  S.  L.  Wolff,  Englische  Studien,  Vol.  37,  p.  334. 

^"^  Mr.  Alfred  Noyes  has  a  poem  in  this  same  stanza  form,  ("Our 
Lady  of  the  Sea."  Oxford  Book  of  Victorian  Verse,  p.  935)  except 
that  his  stanza  consists  of  eight  lines,  the  additional  number  being 
caused  by  the  insertion  of  two  lines  just  before  the  last  two  lines  of 
French.  "i  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  217. 


152  ROBERT   GREENE 

only  in  Greene's  work  but  in  the  whole  period,  is  in  Mena- 
phon's  Song,*'^^  The  poem  is  one  of  two  stanzas  of  fourteen 
lines  each.  This  stanza  Professor  Erskine^"^  resolves  into 
the  equivalent  of  Sidney's  ten-line  epigrammatic  form, 
which  is  the  Shakespearian  sonnet  minus  one  quatrain,  by 
saying  that  it  is  composed  "of  two  quatrains  in  tetrapodies, 
followed  by  a  pentapody  couplet";  and  that,  of  the  stanza 
thus  resolved  into  ten  lines,  the  first,  third,  fifth,  and  seventh 
lines  "are  broken  by  a  syncopated  foot  at  the  second  accent." 
The  explanation  seems  even  more  complicated  than  the 
stanza.  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  take  the  stanza 
just  as  it  is,  and  simply  say  that  it  consists  of  a  group  of 
four  triplets  and  one  couplet.  Each  triplet  consists  of  two 
truncated  two-stress  trochaic  feet  plus  a  third  line  of 
iambic  tetrameter.  The  rime  of  the  short  lines  is  uniform 
throughout;  the  longer  lines  rime  in  pairs,  the  first  two 
going  together,  and  the  last  two.  The  couplet  at  the  end 
is  heroic  and  has  still  a  third  rime.  The  scheme  is  thus 
aab  aab  aac  aac  dd. 

Lodge  in  his  Rosalynde,  1590,  in  Montanus'  Sonnet,  imi- 
tates this  stanza  of  Greene's.  He  omits,  however,  the  con- 
cluding couplet,  his  two-stress  lines  do  not  all  end  in  the 
same  word  —  most  frequently  they  do  not  rime  at  all,  — 
and  the  long  lines  rime  in  alternation.  In  Tarlton's  News 
out  of  Purgatory,  issued  anonymously  in  1590,  we  have 
another  variation  of  Greene's  stanza.  Whether  this  ^"^  poem 
is,  or  is  not,  meant  to  be  a  parody  on  Lodge's  poem,  as  Mr. 
Bullen  suggests,^''^  is  not  of  interest  here,  but  the  metre  as 

102  Vol.  VI.,  p.  41. 

10'  The  Elizabethan  Lyric,  p.  238. 

"''  Ronsards  Description  of  his  Mistris,  which  he  Weres  in  his  Hands 
in  Purgatory. 

106  Lyrics  from  the  Dramatists  of  the  Elizabethan  Age.  Ed.  Bullen. 
1901,  p.  287. 


THE    POETRY  153 

worked  out  in  that  poem  deserves  notice.  The  stanza  there 
is  reduced  to  eight  hnes,  two  triplets  and  an  iambic  tet- 
rameter (instead  of  pentameter)  concluding  couplet.  The 
short  lines  of  the  triplets  do  not  rime,  the  long  ones  do. 

The  second  of  Greene's  elaborate  stanzas  is  to  be  seen  in 
Sephestia's  Song  to  her  Child.'''®  This  is  a  stanza  of  eight 
lines  riming  in  couplets,  the  fourth  couplet  ending  in  the 
same  word  and  employing  nearly  the  same  phraseology  in 
all  three  stanzas.  The  couplets  are  truncated  trochaic 
tetrameter,  and  a  certain  syncopated  effect  is  produced  by 
the  frequent,  but  irregular,  omission  of  the  unaccented 
syllable  in  the  second  trochee.  The  song  has  a  refrain, 
used,  as  Elizabethan  refrains  almost  always  are,  before  the 
first,  after  the  last,  and  between  all  of  the  middle  stanzas. 
This  refrain  is  a  couplet  of  four-stress  lines  made  up  of  ten 
syllables,  and  is  interesting  both  for  the  use  of  the  dactyls 
and  the  lightness  of  movement  produced  by  the  six  un- 
accented syllables.     Thus: 

"Weepe  not  my  wanton  smile  upon  thy  knee, 
When  thou  art  olde  thers  griefe  inough  for  thee." 

In  Menaphon's  Roundelay  ^"^  we  again  have  a  stanza  of  ten 
lines.  It  seems  to  consist  of  two  quatrains  plus  a  concluding 
heroic  couplet.  Of  these  quatrains,  the  first  rimes  abba, 
and  has  the  first  and  fourth  in  five-stress,  and  the  second 
and  third  in  two-stress.  The  second  quatrain  rimes  cdcd, 
having  the  second  and  fourth  in  five-stress,  and  the  first 
and  third  in  two-stress.  The  measure  throughout  is  iambic, 
except  for  an  occasional  trochee  at  the  beginning  of  a  line. 

The  complicated  six-fine  stanza  used  in  Doron's  Jigge  '"^ 
consists  of  a  tetrapody  iambic  couplet,  the  two  lines  of  which 
are  separated  by  a  couplet  of  two-stress  dactylic  lines;  the 

io«  Vol.  VI.,  p.  43.        "'  Vol.  VI.,  p.  59.        lo*  Vol.  VI.,  p.  69. 


154  ROBEET   GREENE 

whole  is  followed  by  a  two-stress  anapestic  couplet.  The 
rime  scheme  is  thus  abbacc,  and  the  rime  bb  occurs  in  all  the 
stanzas.  Greene  calls  this  song  a  roundelay;  rightly  so, 
in  as  much  as  a  roundelay  is  a  "light  poem,  originally  a 
shepherd's  dance,  in  which  an  idea  or  phrase  is  repeated, 
often  as  a  verse,  or  stanzaic  refrain."  ^°^ 

Another  variety  of  six-line  stanza  is  that  consisting  funda- 
mentally of  an  abab  iambic  pentameter  quatrain  followed  by 
two  iambic  trimeter  lines,  unrimed.  There  are  four  stanzas, 
and  the  trimeter  lines  after  the  first  quatrain  rime  with 
those  after  the  second  quatrain  in  cdcd  fashion.  Those  after 
the  third  quatrain  rime  with  the  lines  after  the  fourth. 

A  curious  stanza  ^^^  is  that  made  up  of  nine  lines  and 
riming  abc  abc  ddb.  All  the  lines  are  iambic  pentameter 
except  dd  which  are  dimeter. 

On  three  different  occasions"^  Greene  made  use  of  an 
eight-line  stanza.  This  stanza  consists  of  four  pentameter 
lines  with  the  second  and  fourth  riming,  but  with  the  first 
and  third  unrimed.  Following  these  four  lines  are  two  one- 
stress  iambic  lines  unrimed.  The  stanza  is  completed  by 
a  heroic  couplet. 

Radagon's  Sonnet  in  Francescos  Fortunes^^^  consists  of  ten- 
line  stanzas.  The  stanzas  are  made  up  of  two  iambic  pen- 
tapody  quatrains  each  followed  by  an  iambic  dimeter  line. 
All  the  dimeter  lines  have  the  same  rime.  The  two  quatrains 
of  each  stanza  exchange  rimes,  the  first  being  abba,  the  second 
being  baab. 

One  of  the  most  elaborately  complicated  metres  is  an 
eight-line  stanza  consisting  of  one-,  two-  and  five-stress 
lines,  all  of  which  are  iambic.     The  first,  third,  fifth,  and 

'"*  Schelling,  Elizabethan  Lyrics.     Introduction,  p.  liii. 
"»  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  157. 

1"  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  175;  Vol.  IX.,  p.  214;  Vol.  XII.,  p.  242. 
»»  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  200. 


THE    POETRY  155 

eighth  are  pentameter;  the  second  and  fourth  are  dimeter; 
and  the  sixth  and  seventh  are  one-stress.  The  first  two 
pentameters  rime  with  each  other;  and  the  last  two.  The 
dimeters  rime  with  each  other;  the  one-stress  lines  have  no 
rime,  either  with  themselves  or  with  anything  else  in  the 
stanza. 

The  last  of  Greene's  elaborate  metres"'  is  one  of  six 
lines.  It  consists  of  two  tetrapody  couplets  (about  half 
trochaic,  half  iambic)  with  a  dimeter  trochaic  couplet  between 
them. 

This  tendency  toward  the  elaborate  stanza,  which  we 
have  been  discussing  at  perhaps  tedious  length,  was  a  late 
development  in  Greene's  career.  The  lyrics  in  the  earlier 
romances  are  simple  in  form,  being  for  the  most  part  in 
the  ababcc  stanza,  in  blank  verse,  or  in  quatrain.  In  Mena- 
phon  and  Francescos  Fortunes  (1589  and  1590),  however, 
his  fancy  for  experiment  ran  wild,  and  he  produced  multi- 
tudinous effects  with  long  and  short  lines,  and  combinations 
of  long  and  short  lines,  employing  in  the  process  all  varieties, 
and  combinations  of  varieties,  of  poetic  feet. 

This  keen  interest  in  experimentation  which  Greene  mani- 
fests is  a  very  striking  characteristic  of  his  time.  All  the 
poets  show  this  interest,  Breton,  Sidney,  Lodge.  But  in 
no  one  of  them,  Sidney  perhaps  excepted,  is  there  greater 
fertility  in  the  production  of  new  and  unique  effects. 


IV 

Greene's  poetry  is  best  appreciated  when  it  is  recollected 
in  tranquillity.  Under  such  conditions  that  portion  which 
has  no  especial  interest  drops  out  of  mind ;  and  the  memory, 
thus  rid  of  its  impedimenta,  not  only  retains  with  vividness 

1"  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  212. 


156  ROBERT   GREENE 

certain  individual  poems,  but  creates  for  itself  a  unity  of 
impression  which  arises  from  the  contemplation  of  the 
ensemble.  Not  all  poets  demand  this  remoteness,  for  what 
the  reader  gets  from  them  is  something  immediate  which 
comes  directly  from  contact  with  their  works.  But  with 
a  man  like  Greene,  it  is  better  to  remove  oneself  to  a 
little  distance  in  order  to  obtain  from  him  the  pleasure 
which  it  is  his  to  give. 

There  is  no  message  in  Greene's  poems,  no  criticism  of 
life,  no  truth  and  high  seriousness.  Greene  as  a  poet  is 
not  great  any  more  than  he  is  great  as  a  dramatist  or  as  a 
writer  of  romance.  But  he  is,  when  he  is  at  his  best,  grace- 
ful and  charming.  There  is  an  atmosphere  about  some  of 
his  poems,  a  fragrance  which  lingers  and  becomes  the  more 
fragrant  from  being  remembered. 

Greene  is  not  a  personal  singer.  Except  as  no  artist  can 
fail  to  manifest  somewhat  of  his  individuality,  these  songs 
are  not  an  expression  of  Greene  himself.  They  are  largely 
conventional, —  poetical  exercises  rather  than  an  outpouring 
of  lyric  emotion.  The  origin  of  them  is  in  an  impulse  of 
art  rather  than  of  feeling.  It  is  not  a  song  of  himself  that 
Greene  sings,  nor  is  he  giving  the  record  of  any  emotional 
experience.  Not  for  this  reason,  then,  can  we  cherish  his 
poems. 

The  quality  which  pervades  the  poetry  is  the  same  as 
that  which  gives  the  charm  to  Menaphon.  Greene's  was  a 
sensitive  nature.  It  took  over  much  of  sentiment  and  of 
the  manner  of  expression  from  the  whole  movement  of  the 
Renaissance;  it  caught  the  spirit  of  that  age  so  full  at  once 
of  activity  and  of  romantic  thought.  All  of  these  it  used; 
but  it  idealized  them.  It  imparted  a  spirit  of  freshness 
and  refinement,  an  elevation  which  was  at  the  same  time 
beautiful  and  idyllic.  So  it  was  in  the  poetry.  Greene 
sang  because  others  were  singing  and  he  sang  much  the 


THE    POETRY  157 

same  things.  But  he  did  it  with  a  sweetness  of  voice  and 
a  dehcacy  of  understanding,  whether  he  piped  his  songs  in 
Arcadia,  or  trilled  and  carolled  the  pangs  of  love,  or  exe- 
cuted graceful  turns  of  melody.  Always,  in  those  poems 
which  we  remember,  there  is  charm. 

I  shall  not  attempt  here  to  make  a  representative  selec- 
tion from  Greene.  The  poems  we  choose  are  not  always 
representative.  Here  and  there,  we  take  from  out  a  poet's 
work  a  little  phrase,  a  line,  a  stanza,  or  refrain,  often  iso- 
lated —  somewhat  meaningless  even,  as  it  stands  alone. 
But  we  remember  it.  And  we  wrap  up  in  it  very  often  the 
whole  significance  of  that  poet's  life.  It  has,  like  Brown- 
ing's star,  opened  its  soul  to  us  and  therefore  we  love  it. 


The  Shepheards  Wives  Song 

Ah  what  is  love?     It  is  a  pretty  thing, 
As  sweet  unto  a  shepheard  as  a  king, 

And  sweeter  too : 
For  kings  have  cares  that  waite  upon  a  Crowne, 
And  cares  can  make  the  sweetest  love  to  frowne: 

Ah  then,  ah  then, 
If  countrie  loves  such  sweet  desires  do  gaine. 
What  Lady  would  not  love  a  Shepheard  Swaine? 

His  flockes  are  foulded,  he  comes  home  at  night. 
As  merry  as  a  king  in  his  delight. 

And  merrier  too: 
For  kings  bethinke  them  what  the  state  require, 
Where  Shepheards  carelesse  Carroll  by  the  fire. 

Ah  then,  ah  then, 
If  countrie  loves  such  sweet  desires  gaine 
What  Lady  would  not  love  a  Shepheard  Swaine. 


158  ROBERT   GREENE 


Maesia's  Song 


Sweet  are  the  thoughts  that  savour  of  content, 
the  quiet  mind  is  richer  than  a  crowne, 

Sweet  are  the  nights  in  carelesse  slumber  spent, 
the  poore  estate  scorne  fortunes  angrie  frowne, 

Such  sweet  content,  such  minds,  such  sleep,  such  blis 
beggers  injoy  when  Princes  oft  do  mis. 

The  homely  house  that  harbors  quiet  rest, 
the  cottage  that  affoords  no  pride  nor  care, 

The  meane  that  grees  with  Countrie  musick  best, 
the  sweet  consort  of  mirth  and  musicks  fare. 

Obscured  life  sets  downe  a  type  of  blis, 

a  minde  content  both  crowne  and  kingdome  is. 

Philomelas  Ode 

Sitting  by  a  River's  side, 
Where  a  silent  streame  did  glide. 
Muse  I  did  of  many  things. 
That  the  mind  in  quiet  brings.  .  .  . 

LAMILLA.S  Song 

Fie,  fie  on  blind  fancie. 
It  hinders  youths  joy: 
Fayre  Virgins  learne  by  me, 
To  count  love  a  toy. 

Sonnet 

Cupid  abroade  was  lated  in  the  night, 

His  winges  were  wet  with  ranging  in  the  raine. 

Harbour  he  sought,  to  mee  hee  tooke  his  flight, 
To  dry  his  plumes  I  heard  the  boy  complaine. 


THE    POETRY 


159 


I  opte  the  doore,  and  graunted  his  desire, 
I  rose  my  selfe  and  made  the  wagge  a  fire. 

Looking  more  narrow  by  the  fiers  flame, 

I  spied  his  quiver  hanging  by  his  back: 
Doubting  the  boy  might  my  misfortune  frame, 
I  would  have  gone  for  feare  of  further  wrack. 
But  what  I  drad,  did  mee  poore  wretch  betide: 
For  forth  he  drew  an  arrow  from  his  side. 

He  pierst  the  quick,  and  I  began  to  start, 

A  pleasing  wound  but  that  it  was  too  hie, 
His  shaft  procurde  a  sharpe  yet  sugred  smart. 
Away  he  flewe,  for  why  his  wings  were  dry. 
But  left  the  arrow  sticking  in  my  breast : 
That  sore  I  greevde  I  welcomd  such  a  guest. 

Infidas  Song 

Sweet  Adon',  darst  not  glaunce  thine  eye. 

N'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  amy? 
Upon  thy  Venus  that  must  die, 

Je  vous  en  prie,  pitie  me : 
N'oserez  vous,  mon  bel,  mon  bel, 

N'oserez  vous,  mon  bel  amy? 

Sephestias  Song  to  Her  Childe 

Weepe  not  my  wanton  smile  upon  my  knee, 
When  thou  art  olde  ther's  griefe  inough  for  thee. 

Mothers  wagge,  pretie  boy. 

Fathers  sorrow,  fathers  joy. 

When  thy  father  first  did  see 

Such  a  boy  by  him  and  mee, 


160  ROBERT   GREENE 

He  was  glad,  I  was  woe, 

Fortune  changde  made  him  so, 

When  he  left  his  pretie  boy, 

Last  his  sorrowe  first  his  joy. 
Weepe  not  my  wanton  smile  upon  my  knee: 
When  thou  arte  olde  ther's  griefe  inough  for  thee. 

Philomelaes  Second  Oade 

Fields  were  bare,  and  trees  unclad, 
Flowers  withered,  byrdes  were  sad : 
When  I  saw  a  shepheard  fold, 
Sheepe  in  Coate  to  shunne  the  cold: 
Himselfe  sitting  on  the  grasse, 
That  with  frost  withered  was: 
Sighing  deepely,  thus  gan  say, 
Love  is  folly  when  astray:  .  .  . 
Thence  growes  jarres  thus  I  find 
Love  is  folly,  if  unkind; 
Yet  doe  men  most  desire 
To  be  heated  with  this  fire: 
Whose  flame  is  so  pleasing  hot. 
That  they  burne,  yet  feele  it  not:  .  .  . 
Here  he  paused  and  did  stay, 
Sighed  and  rose  and  went   away. 

DORONS   JiGGE 

...  I  gan  to  woo 

This  sweete  little  one. 
This  bonny  pretie  one. 
I  wooed  hard  a  day  or  two. 
Till  she  bad: 
Be  not  sad, 


THE    POETRY  161 

Wooe  no  more  I  am  thine  owne, 
Thy  dearest  little  one, 
Thy  truest  pretie  one: 
Thus  was  faith  and  firme  love  showne, 
As  behooves 
Shepheards  loves. 


Menaphons  Song 

Some  say  Love 
Foolish  Love 

Doth  rule  and  governe  all  the  Gods, 
I  say  Love, 
Inconstant  Love 

Sets  mens  senses  farre  at  ods. 
Some  sweare  Love 
Smooth'd  face  Love 

Is  sweetest  sweete  that  men  can  have: 
I  say  Love, 
Sower  Love 

Makes  vertue  yeeld  as  beauties  slave. 
A  bitter  sweete,  a  follie  worst  of  all 
That  forceth  wisedome  to  be  follies  thrall. 


DORONS    ECOLOGUE   JOYND    WITH   CaRMELAS 

Carmela 

Ah  Doron,  ah  my  heart,  thou  art  as  white, 
As  is  my  mothers  Calfe  or  brinded  Cow, 
Thine  eyes  are  like  the  glow-worms  in  the  night, 
Thine  haires  resemble  thickest  of  the  snow. 


162  ROBERT   GREENE 

Doron 

Carmela  deare,  even  as  the  golden  ball 
That  Venus  got,  such  are  thy  goodly  eyes, 
When  cherries  juice  is  jumbled  therewithall, 
Thy  breath  is  like  the  steeme  of  apple  pies. 

Thy  lippes  resemble  two  Cowcumbers  faire, 
Thy  teeth  like  to  the  tuskes  of  fattest  swine, 
Thy  speach  is  like  the  thunder  in  the  aire: 
Would  God  thy  toes,  thy  lippes  and  all  were  mine. 

Carmela 

I  thanke  you  Doron,  and  will  thinke  on  you, 
I  love  you  Doron,  and  will  winke  on  you. 
I  scale  your  charter  pattent  with  my  thummes. 
Come  kisse  and  part  for  feare  my  mother  comes. 

The  reader  familiar  with  Elizabethan  poetry  will  recog- 
nize much  that  is  conventional.  He  will  perceive  readily 
that  Greene  is  the  child  of  his  time.  They  were  all  a  family 
of  poets, —  Greene,  Breton,  Lodge,  Barnfield.  Shakespeare 
was  only  a  more  gifted  brother.  But  such  a  reader,  or  one 
who  is  not  so  aware  of  Greene's  likeness  to  his  fellows, 
cannot  fail  to  see  the  delicacy  with  which  these  poems  are 
executed. 

We  have  here  only  eleven  of  the  ninety,  it  is  true,  and 
not  all  of  those  —  a  selection  in  miniature.  It  contains, 
nevertheless,  the  best  of  Greene  as  a  poet,  and  small  as  it  is, 
it  makes  up  the  most  pleasing  part  of  his  works.  Greene 
is  often  insincere;  he  is  interested  in  literature  for  what  it 
yields  him.  These  lyrics  he  wrote  because  they  were  the 
fashion.  But  of  songs  imbedded  in  a  romance  or  tale  of 
any  sort  we  do  not  expect  much.     We  judge  them  for  their 


THE    POETRY  163 

beauty,  and  are  satisfied  if  they  give  us  pretty  sentiment 
or  musical  verses.  We  come  to  them  disinterestedly. 
Perhaps  we  do  not  quite,  with  Carlyle,  make  our  claim  a 
zero  and  get  infinity  for  our  quotient.  But  when  we  get 
pleasure,  the  pleasure  is  gain. 

The  selection  reveals,  too,  a  phase  of  Greene  as  a  man. 
It  shows  the  more  tender,  graceful  side  of  his  nature.  There 
is  nothing  garish  about  it.  Greene's  taste  in  discrimination 
between  the  fanciful  and  the  ultra-fanciful  was  not  always 
sure.  His  fondness  for  fine  clothes  and  his  manner  of  wear- 
ing his  beard  are  characteristics  which  appear  in  his  writings. 
There  is  manifested  a  feeling  for  the  artistic;  at  the  same 
time,  there  is  no  limit  before  which  to  stop.  If  he  is  writing 
a  romance,  he  has  it  romantic  to  excess;  a  didactic  pamphlet, 
he  forces  ideas  upon  us  at  every  turn.  In  his  poetry,  taken 
altogether,  the  same  defect  is  present.  But  with  the  poetry 
—  something  which  is  impossible  with  the  prose  works  — 
we  can  cut  away  the  parts  which  are  bad,  and  leave  that 
which  is  good  discernible  and  clear.  Reduced  thus  to 
minute  compass,  sublimated,  what  is  either  dull  or  fan- 
tastic in  the  mass  becomes  pure  and  undefiled.  It  can  be 
recognized  as  the  product  of  a  genuinely  artistic  imagination. 

Greene  has  not  the  honor  of  a  place  in  the  Golden  Treasury. 


CHAPTER  VI 
CHRONOLOGY  OF  GREENE'S  NON-DRAMATIC  WORKS 

For  most  of  Greene's  works  a  statement  of  the  date  is  an 
easy  matter.  In  connection  with  a  few  of  them  there  are 
difficult  problems. 

The  first  novel  which  we  have  from  Greene's  pen  is 
Mamillia,  a  Mirrour  or  looking-glasse  for  the  Ladies  of  Eng- 
lande.  This  work  is  by  "Robert  Greene,  Graduate  in 
Cambridge,"  and  it  was  "Imprinted  at  London  for  Thomas 
Woodcocke,  1583."  Of  this  1583  edition,  one  of  two  things 
must  be  true.  Either  it  was  not  the  first  edition,  or  the 
work  was  delayed  in  publication.  That  it  was  written 
earlier  is  clear  from  an  entry  in  the  Stationers'  Register 
(Arber,  II.,  378)  as  follows: 

3r(J  October,  1580. 

Thomas  Woodcock:  Lycenced  unto  him  " Manilla,"  a  lookinge 
glasse  for  ye  ladies  of  England. 

If  the  year  1580  saw  an  edition,  all  copies  have  been  lost. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  is  no  satisfactory  explanation  for 
the  three  years'  delay  of  publication,  especially  when  we 
remember  that  it  was  licensed  in  1580  to  the  very  man  for 
whom  it  was  printed  in  1583. 

Mamillia:  the  second  part  of  the  triumph  of  Pallas  offers 
a  similar  problem.  It  is  dated  "From  my  Studie  in  Clare- 
hall  the  vij  of  lulie,"  presumably  in  1583.  Two  months 
later  it  was  entered  on  the  Register  (II.,  p.  428) : 

6  September,  1583. 
Master  Ponsonbye:   Licenced  to  him  under  Master  Watkins  hande 
a  booke  entituled  "Mamilia,  The  seconde  parte  of  the  tryumphe  of 
Pallas  wherein  with  perpetuall  fame  the  constancie  of  gentlewomen 
is  Canonized." 

164 


CHRONOLOGY   OF  THE   NON-DRAMATIC    WORKS  165 

The  title-page  declares  it  to  be  "by  Robert  Greene,  Maister 
of  Arts,  in  Cambridge,"  and  to  have  been  printed  at  London 
by  "Th.  C.  for  William  Ponsonbie."  The  date,  surprisingly, 
is  1593.  We  have  here  a  difference  of  ten  years,  a  difference 
as  strangely  unaccountable  as  that  of  the  First  Part,  for 
the  Second  Part,  too,  was  both  licensed  by,  and  printed  for, 
the  same  man.  Various  theories  have  been  propounded, 
among  them  those  of  Bernhardi,^  as  an  explanation  of  these 
facts;  but  the  wisest  course  seems  to  be  that  of  saying  merely 
that  there  is  no  explanation. 

Of  the  Myrrour  of  Modestie  there  is  nothing  to  state 
except  that  there  was  apparently  only  one  edition,  that 
"Imprinted  at  London  by  Roger  Warde"  1584,  and  that 
there  is  no  entry  of  the  pamphlet  in  the  Stationers' 
Register. 

The  year  1584  saw  the  production  of  four  other  works. 
The  first  of  these  was  Greenes  Garde  of  Fancie.  Of  this  work 
the  earliest  known  edition  is  that  of  1587.  I  think  there 
can  be  no  doubt,  however,  that  the  pamphlet  published  in 
1587  by  Ponsonby  is  to  be  identified  with  that  entered  by 
him  on  April  11,  1584,  that  "yt  is  granted  unto  him  that  if 
he  gett  the  card  of  phantasie  lawfullie  allowed  unto  him, 
that  then  he  shall  enioye  yt  as  his  own  copie." 

As  regards  Arhasto,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  Grosart 
found  in  the  S.  R.  no  early  notice  of  it,  the  pamphlet  was, 
nevertheless,  entered  therein  on  the  thirteenth  of  August, 
1584.^  It  was  published  that  same  year  by  Jackson,  and 
it  is  the  first  of  Greene's  works  to  bear  on  its  title-page  his 
celebrated  motto,  "Omne  tulit  punctum  qui  miscuit  utile 
dulci." 

'  Robert  Greenes  Leben  und  Schriften.  Fine  historisch-kritische 
Studie.     Leipzig.     1874. 

*  Hugh  Jackson:  Receaved  of  him  for  printinge  a  booke  intituled 
Arbasto  the  Anatomie  of  fortune  .  .  .  vj  d. 


166  ROBERT   GREENE 

Concerning  Morando,  the  Tritameron  of  Love,  there  is  some 
doubt  as  to  the  date  of  its  first  appearance.  There  is  an 
entry  in  the  S.  R.  by  Edward  White  for  August  8,  1586; 
but  this  entry,  it  is  more  than  Hkely,  refers  to  an  edition 
in  two  parts  (the  only  edition  of  which  we  have  any  knowl- 
edge) by  the  same  publisher  in  1587.  Grosart  (Vol.  III., 
p.  44)  mentions  a  "Part  1st,  of  1584,  in  the  Bodleian," 
and  it  is  probable  that  there  was  such  an  edition.  For 
as  Storojenko  (Gros.  Vol.  I.,  p.  75)  points  out,  the  Earl  of 
Arundel,  to  whom  the  work  is  dedicated,  "was  committed 
to  the  Tower  for  high  treason  in  the  following  year"^  and 
he  remained  in  the  Tower  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  It  is  not 
likely  that  Greene  would  have  dedicated  a  pamphlet  to  him 
after  that  event. 

One  work  only  dates  from  1585.  This  is  the  Planetomachia: 
or  the  first  parte  of  the  generall  opposition  of  the  seven 
Planets.     It  was  imprinted  for  Thomas  Cadman. 

After  1585  we  have  no  new  work  of  Greene  until  1587. 
But  for  June  11  of  that  year,  the  S.  R.  has  an  entry: 

Edward  Aggas:  Received  of  him  for  Grene  his  farewell  to  foUie 
.  .  .  vj  d. 

No  copy  of  an  edition  of  1587  has  come  down  to  us.  The 
earliest  that  we  have  is  of  the  edition  of  1591,  printed  by 
Thomas  Scarlet,  and  giving  as  Greene's  title,  "Utriusque 
Academiae  in  Artibus  magister."  Now  there  is  no  reason 
for  believing  that  an  edition  of  1587  was  ever  made.  That 
it  was  written  then  in  some  form  or  other,  is  possibly  true.'* 

3  April  25,  1585.  See  D.  N.  B.  for  Philip  Howard,  Earl  of  Arundel. 
Arundel  had  become  a  Catholic  in  September  of  the  preceding  year. 

*  The  fact  that  the  Farewell  to  Follie  is,  as  we  have  seen  (p.  23) 
related  definitely  to  that  large  group  of  didactic  and  quasi-didactic 
frame-work  tales  which  were  so  abundant  in  Greene's  work  about  1587, 
and  the  fact  that  it,  of  all  of  Greene's  work,  shows  the  largest  amount 


CHRONOLOGY    OF   THE   NON-DRAMATIC   WORKS  167 

It  is  also  true  that  it  may  have  been  published  later  in  the 
form  in  which  it  was  originally  written.  There  is  no  way 
of  knowing  about  that.  But,  it  is  evident  that  the  prefatory 
addresses  at  least,  as  we  now  have  them,  were  not  written 
before  the  end  of  1590.  The  statement,  "I  presented  you 
alate  with  my  mourning  garment"^  fixes  November  2,  1590, 
as  the  earliest  date,  for  that  was  the  date  on  which  the  Mourn- 
ing Garment  was  licensed.^ 

Of  the  Farewell  to  Follie,  Edward  Aggas  either  was,  or 
was  to  have  been,  the  publisher.  He  actually  was  the 
publisher  of  Penelopes  Web  which  was  prepared  about  this 
time  and  which  may,  of  course,  as  Simpson  suggests,^  have 
been  substituted  for  the  Farewell  to  Follie.  Penelopes  Web 
was  hcensed  June  26,  1587,  and  was  printed  that  year. 
Three  months  later,  on  September  18,  Euphues  his  Censure  to 
Philautus  was  licensed  to  Edward  White,  and  this  book  too 
was  published  in  1587. 

On  March  29,  1588,  there  was  allowed  unto  this  same 
publisher,  Edward  White,  the  pamphlet  "  intytuled  Perymedes 
the  black  smith;  and  on  December  9,  Alcida  Greenes  Meta- 
morphosis was  entered  by  John  Wolf.  Whether  for  Edward 
White  is  not  known,  for  the  earliest  edition  we  possess  is  that 
printed  by  George  Purslowe  in  1617.^     Sometime    between 

of  borrowing  from  Primaudaye's  Academy  (translated  1586)  may  put 
probability  upon  the  year  1587,  as  the  date  of  composition. 

"  Vol.  IX.,  p.  230. 

*  References  to  Tomliuclin  (Tamberlaine  [?]  pub.  1590)  and  to 
Martin  Marprelate  are  taken  by  Simpson  (School  of  Shakespeare,  Vol. 
II.,  p.  349)  as  further  evidence  that  1591  is  the  date  of  the  first  edition. 

^  School  of  Shakespeare.     Vol.  II.,  p.  350. 

8  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  there  was  an  earlier  edition  than 
that  of  1617.  The  piece  is  mentioned  among  Greene's  most  popular 
works  by  R.  B.  the  author  of  "Greene  his  funeralles"  which  was  licensed 
to  John  Danter  February  1,  1594.  I  fail  to  see  any  force  to  Storo- 
jenko's  argument  that  the  book  was  not  published  at  once  after  Decepa- 


168  ROBERT   GREENE 

March  29  and  December  9,  1588,  it  is  most  likely  that 
Pandosto  should  be  placed.  This  celebrated  pamphlet  was 
printed  by  Thomas  Orwin  for  Thomas  Cadman  in  1588. 
There  is  no  entry  of  Pandosto  in  the  S.  R. 

On  February  1,  of  the  next  year,  was  licensed  the  Spanish 
Masquerade,  the  first  'of  Greene's  extant  works  which  was 
not  a  novel.     It  was  reprinted  the  same  year. 

Thomas  Orwin  also  printed,  this  time  for  Sampson  Clarke, 
Menaphon,  of  which  the  entry  in  the  S.  R.  was  made 
August  23,  1589.  During  this  same  year  Ciceronis  Amor 
also  was  printed,^  although  there  was  no  entry  of  it  in 
the  S.  R. 

The  earliest  novel  of  1590  is  Orpharion,  which  was  licensed 
on  January  9.^''  This  work  must  have  been  planned  and  pos- 
sibly written  nearly  a  year  before  the  date  of  licensing,^^  for 
Greene  mentions  it  in  his  preface  to  Perymedes,  March  29, 
1588,  when  he  speaks  of  "Orpharion,  which  I  promise  to  make 
you  merry  with  the  next  tearme."  In  the  preface  to  theOrpha- 
rion  itself  he  apologizes  for  the  long  delay,  when  he  says,  "I 
have  long  promised  my  Orpharion  ...  at  last  it  is  leapt  into 
the  Stacioners  Shoppe,  but  not  from  my  Study  .  .  .  the 
Printer  had  it  long  since :  marry  whether  his  presse  were  out 
of  tune.  Paper  deere,  or  some  other  secret  delay  drive  it  off, 
it  hath  line  this  twelve  months  in  the  suds."  The  earliest 
edition  of  which  we  have  an  example  is  that  of  1599. 

On  April  15,  the  Royal  Exchange  was  licensed.  This  work 
contained  "sundry  aphorisms  of  Phylosophie,"  and  was 
"Fyrst  written  in  Italian  and  dedicated  to  the  Signorie  of 

ber  9,  1588.  Storojenko  argues  that  it  must  have  been  published  after 
Nashe's  Anatomie  of  Absurditie,  else,  Alcida  being  against  women, 
Nashe  could  not  have  spoken  of  Greene  as  the  "Homer  of  Women." 
(Gros.  Vol.  I.,  p.  95.) 

9  For  Thomas  Newman  and  John  Winington. 

i«  Not  Ucensed  in  1589  as  Grosart  (Vol.  XII.,  p.  3)  thought. 

"  Licensed  by  Edward  White. 


CHRONOLOGY   OF   THE   NON-DRAMATIC   WORKS  169 

Venice,  nowe  translated  into  English  and  offered  to  the  Cittie 
of  London."     The  author  of  La  Burza  Reale  is  unknown. 

With  regard  to  the  other  works  of  1590,  the  situation  is 
complicated.  The  only  date  that  we  can  fix  is  that  of  the  li- 
censing of  Greene's  Mourning  Garment  on  November  2,  1590. 
That  two  other  novels  belong  to  this  same  year,  is  shown 
by  their  title-pages;  the  Never  too  Late  and  the  Francescos 
Fortunes:  or  the  second  part  of  Greenes  never  too  late.  But 
it  is  not  certain  to  what  part  of  the  year  to  assign  them, 
for  there  are  no  entries  in  the  S.  R.  There  is  a  complica- 
tion, too,  which  arises  from  the  uncertainty  of  the  date  of 
Greene's  Vision,  which  may,  or  more  likely  may  not,  belong 
to  this  same  year. 

The  title-page  of  the  Vision  (which  was  undoubtedly  one 
of  the  many  papers  which  Chettle,  in  Kind-harts  Dream,  tells 
us  were  left  in  booksellers'  hands)  states  that  it  was  ''Written 
at  the  instant  of  his  death."  Thomas  Newman,  the  pub- 
lisher, in  his  dedicatory  address  tells  us  that  "it  was  one 
of  the  last  works  of  a  wel  known  Author,"  and  assures  us 
that  although  "manie  have  published  repentaunces  under 
his  name,'*  yet  there  are  "none  more  unfeigned  than  this, 
being  euerie  word  his  owne:  his  own  phrase,  his  own  method." 
Greene's  address  to  the  Gentlemen  Readers  is,  I  think,  clearly 
a  genuine  statement  from  his  own  pen,  and  may,  it  seems 
to  me,  be  considered  as  having  been  among  the  latest  of 
Greene's  writings.  There  is  no  reason,  that  I  can  see,  for 
the  doubt  expressed  by  Mr.  Collins  as  to  this  fact;^^  nor 
for  not  thinking  that  the  Vision  was  prepared  for  publication 

"  "It  would  be  interesting  to  be  able  to  determine  whether  the 
Address  to  the  Gentlemen  Readers  was  written,  as  it  may  have  been, 
by  himself  at  the  instant  of  his  death,  or  whether  it  was  written  in 
1590  under  the  stress  of  a  severe  illness  when  he  thought  himself  on 
the  point  of  death,  or  whether,  finally,  it  was  a  forgery  of  the  pub- 
lisher."    (Collins,  Vol.  I.,  General  Introduction,  p.  26,  note  2.) 


170  ROBERT   GREENE 

very  shortly  before  Greene's  death  in  an  attempt  to  relieve 
if  possible  the  dire  poverty  of  those  last  days. 

The  saying,  however,  that  the  work  was  prepared  for 
publication  late  in  August,  1592,  is  not  saying  that  it  was 
necessarily  written  then.  Indeed,  I  am  inclined  to  believe 
that  it  was  not  written  then.  The  style  is  much  less  direct 
than  that  of  the  ending  of  the  Groatwsorth  of  Wit  and  of 
the  Repentance.  Moreover,  the  pamphlet  seems  rather  to 
be  a  frame-work  tale  for  the  two  stories  by  "Chaucer"  and 
by  "Gower"  than  to  partake  of  the  nature  of  the  other 
repentance  pamphlets.  Neither  do  the  three  poems  which 
the  work  contains  resemble  the  poems  of  the  more  serious 
novels.  And  so  it  does  not  seem  unreasonable  to  suppose 
that  it  may  have  been  written  at  any  time  between  a  date  a 
few  months  subsequent  to  the  date  of  the  events  to  which 
it  relates  (the  publication  of  the  Cobbler  of  Canterbury  in 
1590  and  the  subsequent  repentance  for  folly  on  Greene's 
part)  and  the  time  of  Greene's  last  illness.  That  it  may  have 
been  written  as  a  frame-work  tale  and  at  the  last  moment 
made  over  into  a  repentant  pamphlet  is  not  an  altogether 
impossible  supposition. 

The  Vision  is  of  considerable  importance  in  determining 
the  order  of  the  three  novels,  besides  Orpharion,  which  date 
definitely  from  1590,  for  it  contains  a  reference  to  two  of 
them:  "Only  this  (father  Gower)  I  must  end  my  nunquam 
sera  est,  and  for  that  I  craue  pardon:  .  .  .  looke  as  speedily 
as  the  presse  will  serue  for  my  mourning  garment."  ^^  Mr. 
Collins,  on  the  basis  of  these  references,  places  the  composi- 
tion of  the  Vision  in  the  midst  of  the  composition  of  the 
other  two.  As  I  have  said,  I  do  not  see  how  all  of  it  at  least 
can  be  put  there.  "After  I  was  burdened  with  the  penning 
of  the  Cobbler  of  Canterbury"  does  not  sound  like  a  state- 
ment immediately  following  the  publication  of  that  las- 
is  Vol.  XII.,  p.  274. 


CHRONOLOGY   OF   THE   NON-DRAMATIC    WORKS  171 

civious  pamphlet.  And  there  is  another  consideration 
against  the  Vision's  having  been  written  just  then.  The 
events  described  in  the  Vision  undoubtedly  occurred  in 
1590.  But  never  in  1590,  nor  until  much  later,  was  Greene 
personal  in  his  writings.  We  think  of  him  as  having  talked 
a  great  deal  about  himself,  and  the  death-bed  pamphlets 
are  those  we  usually  read  first.  But  we  must  remember 
that  by  1590  Greene  had  really  said  very  little,  and  that 
it  was  not  until  August,  1592,  that  he  wrote  of  himself 
personally  —  in  the  Groatsworth  of  Wit  and  in  the  Repentance. 
We  can  hardly,  therefore,  place  the  Vision  as  early  as  1590. 
This  dating  does  not  in  any  way  conflict  with  the  references 
to  the  Never  too  Late  and  the  Mourning  Garment.  Greene 
in  the  Vision  was  looking  back  upon  events  as  they  occurred, 
and  from  that  point  of  view  did  have  those  books  still  to 
finish. 

To  come  back  now  to  the  other  novels.  Greene  evidently 
was  writing  the  Never  too  Late  when  the  events  described 
in  the  Vision  occurred,  for  he  asked  Father  Gower  for  per- 
mission to  finish  it  before  he  took  up  the  Mourning  Garment. 
At  the  end  of  the  Never  too  Late,  however,  Greene  promises 
us  a  sequel:  "As  soone  as  may  bee  Gentlemen,  looke  for 
Prancescos  further  fortunes,  and  after  that  my  Farewell  to 
Follie,  and  then  adieu  to  all  amorous  Pamphlets."  ^^  The 
Francescos  Fortunes  soon  followed,  which  with  more  show 
of  protestation  than  of  sincerity,  perhaps,  Greene  says 
would  not  have  gone  to  press  "had  it  not  been  promised." ^^ 
And  then,  before  preparing  the  Farewell  to  Follie  which  had 
been  promised  at  the  end  of  Never  too  Late,  Greene  turned 
to  write  the  Mourning  Garment  to  which  he  makes  reference 
in  the  Vision,  and  which  he  speaks  of  in  the  preface  to  the 
Farewell  to  Follie.^^ 

"  Vol.  VIII,,  p.  109.  15  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  118. 

'«  Vol.  IX.,  p.  230. 


172  ROBERT   GREENE 

So  much  then  for  the  novels  of  1590,  with  Orpharion  first 
on  January  9,  and  Mourning  Garment  last,  on  November  2. 
Between  these  two  dates  come  Never  too  Late  and  Fran- 
cescos  Fortunes.  As  for  the  Vision,  it  may  belong  anywhere 
from  the  latter  half  of  1590  on  to  1592. 

In  1591  the  Farewell  to  Follie  was  the  only  novel  published. 
This  pamphlet  we  have  already  discussed. 

On  December  6, 1591,  Greene  pubUshed^l  Maidens  Dreame, 
his  only  extant  poem  which  is  not  part  of  a  work  of  fiction. 

One  week  later,  December  13,  were  entered  the  first  of  the 
conny-catching  pamphlets : 

Edward  White  and  Thomas  Nelson:  Entred  .  .  .  The  arte  of  Connye 
hatching. 

William  Wright:  Entred  for  his  copie  to  be  printed  always  for  him 
by  John  Wolf  The  second  parte  of  Connye  hatching. 

The  Thirde  and  last  Part  was  entered  February  7,  1592, 
by  Thomas  Scarlet,  for  Cutberd  Burbie.  The  Defence  of 
Conny-Catching  was  licensed  April  21.  A  Disputation 
Betweene  a  Hee  and  a  Shee  Conny-Catcher  dates  from  about 
this  time,  a  little  later  perhaps. 

Philomela  was  licensed  July  1,  1592.  Greene  says  it  was 
written  earlier.^^  From  its  dissimilarity  to  the  realistic 
pamphlets  among  which  it  appears,  and  from  its  striking 
likeness  to  some  of  the  earlier  work,  the  romance  may  be,  no 
doubt,  placed,  as  Dr.  Wolff  says,i*  with  the  1584-7  group  or 
with  the  Pandosto-Menaphon  group  of  1588-9.  It  is  rather 
characteristic  of  Greene  that  in  addition  to  his  apology  for 
publishing  a  love  pamphlet  after  the  promises  made  in  the 
Mourning  Garment  and  the  Farewell  to  Follie,  he  should 
change  his  motto  from  the  Omne  tulit,  which  he  used  on 

'^  ".  .  .  which  I  had  writen  long  since  &  kept  charily."  Vol.  XI., 
p.  109. 

"  Greek  Romances,  p.  405. 


CHRONOLOGY   OF  THE   NON-DRAMATIC   WORK  173 

similar  romances,  to  the  Sero  sed  serio  of  the  prodigal-son 
romances.  On  July  20,  A  Quippe  for  an  Upstart  Courtier 
appeared.  The  Blacke  Books  Messenger,  or  the  Life  and 
Death  of  Ned  Browne,  was  entered  August  21. 

The  last  novel  from  Greene's  pen  is  the  Groatsworth  of  Wit. 
When  this  was  started  there  is  no  way  of  knowing.  But 
the  last  part  of  it,  surely,  was  written  during  Greene's  last 
days  when  the  seriousness  of  his  illness  was  making  itself 
felt.  It  was  not  published  until  after  his  death,  having 
been  licensed  on  September  20,  1592.  The  earliest  known 
edition  is  that  of  1596. 

The  last  date  we  have  to  mention  is  October  6,  when 
the  Repentance  appeared. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE    PLAYS 

(A)  The  Chronology  of  the  Plays 

There  is  no  doubt  that  The  Comical  History  of  Alphonsus, 
King  of  Arragon,^  is  the  earliest  play  that  has  come  to  us 
from  Greene's  pen.  Upon  this  fact  scholars  are  agreed. 
In  addition  to  the  crudity  of  the  play  in  regard  to  general 
style  and  mechanism,  which  show  immaturity,  there  are 
Greene's  own  lines  in  the  Prologue, 

"And  this  my  hand,  which  used  for  to  pen 
The  praise  of  love  and  Cupid's  peerless  power, 
Will  now  begin  to  treat  of  bloody  Mars, 
Of  doughty  deeds  and  valiant  victories,"^ 

*  The  earliest  examplar  "as  it  hath  been  sundrie  times  acted"  was 
printed  by  Thomas  Creede,  1599;  this  is  the  only  one  of  Greene's 
plays  which  has  no  motto. 

*  This  passage  in  Greene's  prologue  may  be  a  challenge  to  Marlowe, 
or  it  may  be  an  imitation  of  Marlowe's  prologue  to  Tamburlaine: 

"From  jigging  veins  of  rhyming  mother  wits. 
And  such  conceits  as  clownage  keeps  in  play, 
We'U  lead  you  to  the  stately  tent  of  war." 
Passages  like  Marlowe's  and  Greene's  may,  however,  both  be  just 
following  a  fashion.     Such  passages  were  at  least  not  unknown  in 
poetry.     In   England's   Helicon    (Ed.    Bullen,    p.    240)    there   is   "An 
Heroical  Poem"  which  contains  these  lines: 

"My  wanton  Muse  that  whilom  wont  to  sing 
Fair  beauty's  praise  and  Venus'  sweet  delight, 
Of  late  had  changed  the  tenor  of  her  string 
To  higher  tunes  than  serve  for  Cupid's  fight. 
Shrill  trmnpet's  sound,  sharp  swords,  and  lances  strong. 
War,  blood,  and  death  were  matter  of  her  song." 
174 


THE    PLAYS  175 

which  have  been  taken  to  mean  that  in  Alphonsus  Greene 
turned  from  novels  to  plays,  inspired  to  do  so,  it  is  further 
agreed,  by  the  success  of  Tamburlaine. 

But  though  Alphonsus  is  recognized  as  his  earliest  dramatic 
production,  the  date  at  which  Greene  began  to  write  plays 
has  been  a  matter  of  discussion.  Especially  so,  since  the 
appearance  of  the  edition  of  Greene's  plays ^  by  the  late  Mr. 
Churton  Collins,  who  argued  for  a  much  later  date  than  any 
hitherto  proposed.^ 

Granting  the  relation  between  Alphonsus  and  Tamburlaine 
as  that  of  copy  and  model,  Mr.  Collins,  nevertheless,  places 
Alphonsus  as  not  earlier  than  1591.  Most  important  among 
his  reasons  for  this  date  is  the  similarity  between  the  pro- 
logue to  Alphonsus  and  certain  passages  in  Spenser's  Com- 
plaints (published  1591).  In  The  Teares  of  the  Muses, 
Spenser,  through  the  mouth  of  Calliope,  deplores  the 
decay  of  poetry  and  the  want  of  heroic  themes.  The 
Muse  threatens  eternal  silence.  Alphonsus  as  a  hero  satis- 
fies Calliope,  according  to  Greene's  prologue,  and  she  deter- 
mines to  break  her  silence.  Greene's  play  is,  therefore,  a 
response    to    Spenser's    Complaints.     Certain    parallels    of 

In  the  heroical  poems  of  Daniel  and  Drayton  there  are  indications 
of  this  same  kind  of  ostentatious  introduction. 

Recognition  of  the  prevalence  of  such  passages  as  that  of  Greene's, 
while  it  casts  a  little  doubt  upon  Greene's  challenge  to  Marlowe,  does 
not  alter  the  relation  between  the  two  plays;  nor  does  it  in  any  way 
lessen  the  probability  that  Alphonsus  is  Greene's  first  play. 

^  The  Plays  and  Poems  of  Robert  Greene,  Ed.  with  Introductions 
and  Notes,  by  J.  Churton  Collins.     Clarendon  Press,  1905. 

■*  The  whole  matter,  it  may  be  said,  is  very  difficult.  The  problem 
of  the  dates  —  and  the  authorship,  too  —  of  Greene's  plays  is  perhaps 
imsolvable,  and  it  is  to  be  doubted  whether  anything  more  definite 
than  approximations  can  be  reached.  To  the  discussions  of  dates  and 
authorship  I  have  little  to  add.  What  I  say,  largely  by  way  of  sum- 
mary, may  be  found  in  the  writing  of  Gayley,  Greg,  Storojenko,  and 
Collins. 


176  ROBERT   GREENE 

thought  and  diction  bear  out  this  same  conclusion.  Addi- 
tional reasons  Mr.  Collins  finds  as  follows:  In  none  of  his 
works  before  1591  does  Greene  mention  his  plays,  although 
he  mentions  his  novels;  Nashe  says  nothing  of  Greene's 
plays  in  the  Preface  to  Menaphon  (1589);  nor  do  the  com- 
mendatory verses  to  Menaphon  (1589),  to  Perymedes  (1588), 
to  Alcida  (1588),  have  any  such  references.  The  possible 
objection  that,  since  Tamburlaine  was  produced  as  early  as 
1587,  1591  would  be  a  rather  late  date  at  which  to  be  paro- 
dying it,  is  answered  by  the  statement  that  Tamburlaine  had 
continued  to  be  popular  upon  the  stage  and  that  additional 
prominence  had  been  given  to  it  by  its  publication  in  1590. 
Such  are,  briefly,  Mr.  Collins'  reasons  for  his  choosing 
1591  as  the  date  of  Alphonsus.  Mr.  W.  W.  Greg,  reviewing 
Collins'  work,^  attacked  the  theory.  Mr.  Greg  says  that  the 
question  turns  "upon  the  interpretation  of  an  important  but 
obscure  passage  in  the  Preface  to  Perymedes' ',  dated  1588: 

"I  keepe  my  old  course,  to  palter  up  some  thing  in  Prose,  using 
mine  old  poesie  still,  Omne  tulit  -punctum,  although  latelye  two  Gentle- 
men Poets  made  two  mad  men  of  Rome  beate  it  out  of  their  paper 
bucklers:  &  had  it  in  derision,  for  that  I  could  not  make  my  versea 
jet  it  upon  the  stage  in  tragicall  buskins,  everie  worde  filling  the  mouth 
like  the  faburden  of  Bo-Bell,  daring  God  out  of  heaven  with  that 
Atheist  Tamburlan,  or  blaspheming  with  the  mad  preest  of  the  sonne."' 

The  full  meaning  of  Greene's  words  cannot  be  known,  but 
two  interpretations  may  be  given  to  the  passage  as  a  whole. 
One  is  to  the  effect  that  Greene  is  taunted  for  not  having 
written  plays;  the  other,  to  the  effect  that  he  has  done  so 
and  failed.  Collins,  arguing  for  a  late  date  for  Alphonsus, 
believes  the  latter  to  be  the  more  sensible  interpretation. 
Greg  agrees.'^    But  he  would  place  Alphonsus  immediately 

*  Modern  Language  Review,  Vol.  I.  *  Vol.  VII.,  p.  8. 

'  This  is  the  interpretation  given  by  Mr.  Gayley  also.  {Repre- 
sentative English  Cojiiedies.     Vol.  I.,  p.  403.) 


THE   PLAYS  177 

after  Tamhurlaine,  not  later  than  1588.  As  for  the  simi- 
larities to  Spenser,  Mr.  Greg  considers  them  of  little  worth. 
''Supposing  the  parallels  to  have  the  least  force,  which  it  is 
difficult  to  grant,  nothing  follows,  since,  as  Professor  Collins 
himself  admits,  the  poems  in  question  circulated  in  MS.  for 
several  years  before  they  issued  from  the  press."^ 

In  addition  to  his  refutation  of  Collins'  statements,  Greg 
brings  forward  another  argument  for  the  year  1587.  It  is 
this.  Delphrigus  and  the  King  of  the  Fairies  are  men- 
tioned as  famous  parts  by  the  player  who  in  Groatsworth 
of  Wit  induced  Roberto  to  become  a  maker  of  plays.  The 
detail  in  Groatsworth  of  Wit  is,  Mr,  Greg  thinks,  a  personal 
recollection,  and  indicates  that  these  plays  were  popular 
when  Greene  began  to  write  plays.  Now  Nashe,  in  the 
Preface  to  Menaphon  speaks  of  the  "company  of  taffety 
fools"  who  "might  have  antickt  it  untill  this  time  up  and 
downe  the  countrey  with  the  King  of  Fairies,  and  dined 
every  day  at  the  pease  porredge  ordinary  with  Delphrigus." 
The  plays,  that  is,  were  old  in  1589.  Hence  Greg  con- 
cludes, in  1587  —  immediately  after  the  success  of  Tamhur- 
laine—  Greene  wrote  his  Alphonsus. 

On  account  of  the  closeness  of  the  relationship  between 
Alphonsus  and  Marlowe's  play,  1587  or  1588  has  been 
accepted  by  Fleay,  Storojenko,  Dickinson,  Gayley,  and 
Greg.  Against  the  belief  of  these  men,  the  argument  of 
Professor  Collins  for  a  later  date  seems  unconvincing. 

Greene's  second  play,  it  is  almost  generally  believed,  was 
A  Looking  Glasse  for  London  and  Englande.  This  play 
Gayley  assigns  to  1587.  Storojenko  and  Grosart  place  it 
late  in  1588  or  early  in  1589.  Collins  puts  it  in  1590  or 
1591,  as  a  part  of  Greene's  "repentant"  work.  The  state- 
ment of  Collins,  in  view  of  what  has  been  said  in  an  earlier 
chapter  regarding  Greene's  repentance,  need  not  detain  us 

»  Mod.  Lang.  Rev.  Vol.  I.,  p.  244. 


178  ROBERT   GREENE 

here.  As  for  the  others,  they  agree  that  1589  may  be  safely 
considered  as  the  latest  possible  date,  on  account  of  a  pas- 
sage at  the  end  of  Lodge's  Scillaes  Metamorphosis ^^ 

"To  write  no  more  of  that  whence  shame  doth  grow, 
Or  tie  my  pen  to  penny-knaves  delight, 
But  live  with  fame  and  so  for  fame  to  write."' 

I  can  see  no  particular  force  to  the  argument.  In  the 
first  place,  inasmuch  as  the  lines  occur  at  the  end  of  a  poem 
and  not  of  a  play,  I  cannot  see  that  Lodge  is  referring  to  plays 
particularly  and  not  to  all  kinds  of  writing  for  penny-knaves' 
delight.  In  the  second  place  Lodge  is  not  to  be  taken  too 
seriously.  His  statement  is  nothing  more  than  the  con- 
ventional apology  for  the  "trifle"  therewith  presented.^" 
As  for  1589,  however,  it  is  likely  that  the  Looking  Glasse 
was  written  before  that  date. 

About  1588  Lodge  sailed  with  Captain  Clarke  to  Tercera 
and  the  Canaries.  He  wrote  some  commendatory  verses  for 
Greene's  Spanish  Masquerado  (licensed  February  1, 1589), and 
published  his  own  Scillaes  Metamorphosis  on  September  22. 
He  and  Greene  may  have  collaborated  during  the  summer,  after 
Lodge's  return.  But  Gayley's  point  is  well  taken  that,  since 
the  play  contains  no  reference  to  the  Armada  (and  such  a 
play  might  very  naturally  contain  such  references).  Lodge 
and  Greene  produced  it  before  Lodge  left  England  in  1588. 
It  does  not  seem  necessary,  however,  to  put  the  date  as 
early  as  Gayley  does,  —  June,  1587,  the  time  when  Spain  and 
the  Pope  joined  forces  in  a  treaty. 

The  Looking  Glasse  was  printed  for  Thomas  Creede  in  1594, 
having  been  entered  on  the  Stationers'  Registers  on  March  5 
of  that  year.     This  play  is  mentioned  in  Henslowe's  Diary 

'  Lodge's  works,  Hunterian  Club.  Mr.  Gosse  inclines  to  place  this 
poem  as  early  as  1585  or  1586. 

*"  Similar  to  the  utterances  of  Gascoigne  and  of  Greene  himself. 


THE    PLAYS  179 

among  the  performances  of  1592:  March  8,  March  27,  April 
19,  and  June  7. 

The  earUest  impression  of  Orlando  Furioso,  "as  it  was 
playd  before  the  Queenes  Maiestie,"  was  published  in  1594, 
having  been  entered  on  December  7,  1593.  The  Queen's 
players  left  the  court  on  December  26,  1591.  The  play 
must  have  been  written  before  that  date.  Orlando  was 
already  an  old  play  when  it  was  performed  in  Henslowe's 
theater  by  the  Admiral's  and  Lord  Strange's  men  on 
February  21,  1592,  If  there  is  any  truth  in  the  passage  in 
the  Defence  of  Canny-Catching,  "you  sold  Orland  Fourioso 
to  the  Queens  players  for  twenty  nobles,  and  when  they 
were  in  the  country,  sold  the  same  play  to  Lord  Admirals 
men,  for  as  much  more,"  it  would  indicate  that  the  play 
had  been  resold  early  in  1592,  and  that  it  had  belonged  to 
the  Queen's  company  until  December  26,  1591. 

It  is  very  likely  that  December  26,  1591,  marks  the  latest 
date  for  composition.  A  passage  within  the  play"  sets  July 
30, 1588,  as  the  earliest.  This  passage,  as  Prof.  Gayley  says,^^ 
is  historically  minute,  referring  to  the  departure  of  the 
Armada  from  Lisbon;  it  does  not  "savour  of  afterthought 
or  actor's  clap-trap,"  and  it  agrees  with  a  later  passage  in 
the  play  which  has  to  do  with  Orlando's  defense  of  Angelica 
(Unes  1485-6), 

"Yet  for  I  see  my  Princesse  is  abusde, 
By  new-come  straglers  from  a  forren  coast." 

That  the  play  was  written  after  the  defeat  of  the  Armada 
seems  clear. 

"  Lines  82-86:    Scene  I. 

"And  what  I  dare,  let  say  the  Portingale, 

And  Spaniard  tell,  who,  mann'd  with  mighty  fleets, 

Came  to  subdue  my  islands  to  their  kings, 

Filling  our  seas  with  stately  argosies." 
"  Rep.  Eng.  Com.  p.  408. 


180  ROBERT   GREENE 

Between  July  30, 1588,  and  December  28,  1591,  the  Queen's 
company  acted  at  court  ten  times.^^  The  performance  of 
February  9,  1589  (being  assigned  also  to  the  Admiral's  men), 
is  open  to  question,  which  leaves  December  26,  1588,  as  the 
only  date  within  the  year  that  followed  the  Spanish  defeat. 
This  is  a  probable  date  for  the  performance,  for  references 
to  the  Armada  would  be  likely  to  occur  in  a  play  to  be  per- 
formed at  court  at  such  a  time.  There  may  be  further 
ground  for  thinking  that  Orlando  was  acted  before  the 
spring  of  1589  in  that  Peele  may  be  alluding  to  Orlando 
in  his  Farewell,^^  written  that  year. 

The  Honorable  Historie  of  frier  Bacon  and  frier  Bongay, 
according  to  Gay  ley, ^^  dates  from  the  end  of  1589  or  the 
beginning  of  1590,  sometime  within  a  year  after  the  produc- 
tion of  Dr.  Faustus.  The  play  is  the  first  entered  in  Hens- 
lowe's  Diary,  under  the  date  February  19,  1592.  It  was 
not  then  a  new  play. 

The  play  of  Faire  Em  is  of  considerable  importance  in 
the  problem  of  dating  Friar  Bacon.  Faire  Em  is  obviously 
imitation  of  Greene's  play.  Greene  reproaches  its  author^® 
for  having  consumed  "a  whole  yeare"  in  the  process  of 
writing.  Whatever  "a  whole  yeare"  may  mean,  Friar 
Bacon  precedes  Faire  Em  by  several  months  at  least. 

Professor  Gayley  dates  Faire  Em  1590.  It  very  likely 
followed  the  fresh  editions  of  Yver's  Printemps  d'lver  (the 
source)  in  1588  and  '89.    It  was  written  between  November  2, 

"  1588,  Dec.  26;  1589,  Feb.  9  (?),  Dec.  26;  1590,  Mar.  1,  Dec.  26; 
1591,  Jan,  1,  3,  6,  Feb.  14,  Dec.  26.     (Fleay,  Hist,  of  Stage,  pp.  76-80.) 

"  See  Collier,  Memoirs  of  Alleyn;  Fleay,  Life  of  Shakespeare, 
p.  96;    Gayley,  Rep.  Eng.  Comedies,  p.  409. 

^^  Rep.  Eng.  Comedies,  p.  411. 

^^  O,  tis  a  jollie  matter  when  a  man  hath  a  familiar  stile  and  can 
endite  a  whole  yeare  and  never  be  beholding  to  art?  but  to  bring 
Scripture  to  prove  anything  he  says  —  is  no  small  piece  of  cunning." 
(Vol.  IX.,  p.  233.) 


THE   PLAYS  181 

1590,  and  the  middle  of  1591, —  between  the  preface  to 
Greene's  Mourning  Garment,  which  has  only  general  refer- 
ences to  those  who  may  reject  his  repentance,  and  the 
preface  to  Farewell  to  Follie,  which  contains  the  specific 
reference  to  the  author  of  Faire  Em.  A  year  preceding 
would  place  Friar  Bacon  in  the  second  half  of  1589  or  very 
early  in  1590. 

Mr.  Fleay  ^'^  brings  forward  another  argument  to  indicate 
1589  as  the  date  of  Friar  Bacon.  Inasmuch  as  playwrights 
using  dates  in  their  plays  always,  Mr.  Fleay  says,  used  the 
almanac  of  the  current  year;  and  inasmuch  as  1589  is  the 
only  possible  year  which  fulfils  these  conditions,  the  earliest 
possible  date  is  thus  determined. 

Collins,  it  should  be  said,  believes  that  Friar  Bacon  fol- 
lowed, rather  than  preceded  Faire  Em,  believing  that 
Greene's  play  is  an  imitation  of  the  anonymous  one.  He 
assigns  it,  therefore,  to  the  end  of  1591  or  the  beginning 
of  1592. 

The  last  of  Greene's  undoubted  plays  is  James  IV.  This 
play  was  entered  on  the  Stationers'  Registers  on  May  14, 
1594,  but  no  copy  earlier  than  that  of  1598  is  known.  As  to 
the  date  of  its  composition,  Mr.  Collins  has  nothing  to  say, 
further  than  that  it  is  among  Greene's  latest  dramatic 
work. 

It  is  probable  that  James  IV.  dates  from  the  end  of  1590 
or  the  beginning  of  1591,  following  upon  the  line  of  develop- 
ment started  in  Friar  Bacon.  Mr.  Gayley  makes  consid- 
erable of  what  he  thinks  is  a  definite  relationship  between 
Dorothea's  song  in  James  IV.  (Act  I.,  lines  270-9)  and 
some  lines  in  Peele's  Hunting  of  Cupid,  which  he  dates  as 
1590.  In  the  resemblance  of  Dorothea's  song  to  Greene's 
lines  and  in  the  further  resemblance  to  Greene's  own  song  in 
Mourning  Garment  (November  2,  1590)  I  can  see  no  argument 
1^  In  Ward's  O.  E.  D.,  cxliii-cxliv. 


182  ROBERT   GREENE 

of  weight.  "Ah,  what  is  love?"  was  too  common  a  theme 
to  make  reasoning  upon  its  occurrence  at  all  stable.  There 
seems  to  be  more  foundation  to  Gayley's  statements  that  the 
boast  of  Dorothea, 

"Shall  never  Frenchman  say  an  English  maid 
Of  threats  of  forraine  force  will  be  afraid," 

contains  a  reference  to  Elizabeth's  landing  of  troops  in 
France  in  1590  and  1591;  and  that  the  reference  to  the 
Irish  wars  may  have  come  from  the  contemporary  troubles 
in  Fermanagh.  On  the  whole,  the  conclusion  that  the  play 
was  presented  at  court  on  December  26,  1590,  is  not  bad. 

The  conclusions  stated  above  are  by  no  means  certain. 
Long  years  ago  Dyce  prophesied  that  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  determine  with  exactness  the  date  of  any  one  of 
Greene's  plays.  Since  Dyce's  time,  not  enough  definite 
information  has  been  secured  to  prevent  the  fulfilment  of 
the  prophecy.  To  date  Alphonsus  1587  or  1588;  Looking 
Glasse  the  same  years  (more  likely,  1588);  Orlando  1588, 
December  26;  Friar  Bacon,  1589  or  1590;  James  IV.,  1590, 
December  26,  —  is  to  come  as  near  the  truth,  however,  as, 
at  present,  is  possible. 

(B)  Attributions  to  Greene 

Aside  from  the  problems  of  dates,  the  student  of  Greene's 
plays  is  confronted  by  the  further  problem  of  determina- 
tions of  authorship.  With  this  problem,  as  with  the  other,  I 
shall  endeavor  to  state  briefly  what  arguments  have 
been  advanced. 

Of  the  numerous  plays  which  have  at  times  been  assigned 
to  Greene  it  is  necessary  to  mention  the  following:  First 
and  Second  Parts  of  Henry  VI.,  The  Pinner  of  Wakefield, 
Selimus,  and  A  Knack  to  Know  a  Knave.    With  regard  to 


THE   PLAYS  183 

the  Henry  VI.  plays  the  long-standing  attribution  of  a  share 
to  Greene  by  Miss  Lee^^  has  been  argued  to  be  without 
foundation  by  the  author  of  a  recent  discussion  of  the 
Henry  VI.  problem. ^^  A  Knack  to  Know  a  Knave  has  been 
proposed  by  Professor  Gayley,^"  following  a  suggestion  of 
Simpson,  as  a  solution  for  the  puzzling  passage  in  Greene's 
Groatsworth  of  Wit.  Greene,  writing  to  Marlowe,  says, 
"With  thee  I  joyne  young  Juvenall,  that  byting  satirist, 
that  lastly  with  mee  together  writ  a  comedie."  The  identi- 
fication of  "young  Juvenall"  and  of  the  "Comedie"  has 
caused  much  discussion,  into  the  merits  of  which  it  is  not 
necessary  to  enter.^^ 

Opposed  to  the  theory  favoring  Lodge  and  the  Looking 
Glasse,  Professor  Gayley  believes  that  Nashe  and  a  Knack 
to  Know  a  Knave  better  fit  the  problem.  With  the  exception 
of  Collins,  who  somewhat  arbitrarily  favors  Lodge,  opinion 
has  come  to  rest  largely  upon  Nashe.  But  Gayley  is  alone 
in  his  proposed  solution  of  the  "comedie"  in  which  Greene 
says  he  had  a  share.  His  argument  is  that  the  subject  is 
not  foreign  to  Nashe,  that  certain  characters  resemble  two 
others  in  Summer's  Last  Will,  that  Greene  had  been  engaged 

"  Miss  Jane  Lee.  The  New  Shakespeare  Society  Transactions. 
1875-6,  p.  219.  "On  the  Authorship  of  the  Second  and  Third  Parts 
of  Henjy  VI.  and  their  Originals." 

"  C.  F.  Tucker  Brooke.  "The  Authorship  of  2  and  3  Henry  VI." 
The  main  points  to  Mr.  Brooke's  discussion  are  as  follows: 

1.  The  approach  of  the  subject  from  the  side  of  Shakespeare 
cannot  yield  results. 

2.  Marlowe  is  the  author  of  the  Contention  and  the  True 
Tragedy. 

3.  Neither  Greene  nor  Peele  had  any  connection  with  the 
plays. 

4.  Shakespeare  revised  Contention  and  True  Tragedy,  deep- 
ening the  characters  and  changing  many  passages  and  lines. 

20  Rep.  Eng.  Comedies.     Vol.  I.,  pp.  422-6. 

2>  A  good  summary  may  be  found  in  McKerrow's  Edition  of  Nashe 


184  ROBERT   GREENE 

in  knave  pamphlets,  that  it  has  certain  parallels  to  Friar 
Bacon,  that  it  is  called  a  "comedie"  while  no  authenticated 
play  of  Greene's  is  so  called,  that  its  date  is  in  accord  with 
Greene's  statement,  and  that  it  was  played  by  a  company 
then  acting  three  of  Greene's  known  dramas.  All  these 
points  are  suggestive,  even  though  not  conclusive. 

The  remaining  two,  Selimus  and  George-a-Greene,  have 
more  importance  in  this  question  of  authorship.  Dr. 
Grosart  first  ''reclaimed"  Selimus  for  Greene  and  included 
it  among  Greene's  plays.  This  he  did  on  the  basis  of  ex- 
ternal and  internal  evidence.  The  external  evidence  con- 
sists in  the  fact  that  two  passages  from  Selimus  —  on  Delaie 
and  Damocles  —  are  attributed  to  Greene  by  Robert  Allott 
in  England's  Parnassus  (1600), —  a  collection  of  quotations 
from  the  then  extant  poetry  of  England.  The  internal 
evidence  has  to  do  with  the  resemblance  between  certain 
lines  in  Selimus  and  Greene's  song,  "Sweet  are  the  thoughts 
that  savour  of  content";  with  the  fact  that  Greene  promised 
a  second  part  to  Alphonsus,  for  which,  in  view  of  the  failure 
of  Alphonsus,  Greene  substituted  Selimus;  and  finally  that 
there  are  many  resemblances  between  Alphonsus  and 
Selimus. 

The  most  earnest  upholder  of  Dr.  Grosart  is  Mr.  Hugo  Gil- 
bert, whose  dissertation-  argues  strongly  for  Greene's  author- 
ship of  Selimus.  Gilbert  believes  in  Allott's  trustworthiness 
in  England's  Parnassus,  in  which  he  finds  six  passages  from 
Selimus  —  an  increase  over  Dr.  Grosart's  two.  Mr.  Gilbert 
finds  what  he  thinks  are  certain  resemblances  between  the 
character  of  Bullithrumble  in  Selimus  to  the  clowns  in 
Greene's  authenticated  plays.  He  sees  in  Selimus  the  same 
praise  of  country  life  that  is  to  be  found  in  some  of  Greene's 
works.     The  natural  history  allusions,  the  archaisms,   the 

^  Robert  Greene'3  Selimus.  Eine  Litterarhistorische  Untersuchung. 
Kiel,  1899. 


THE    PLAYS  185 

Machiavellian  doctrine,  the  proper  names,  all  occur  in 
Greene's  acknowledged  work,  and  so  all  prove  Greene's 
authorship  of  Selimus. 

Gilbert  pointed  out  that  the  source  of  Selimus  is  to  be 
found  in  Paulus  Jovius'  ''Rerum  Turcicarum  commentarius 
ad  Invictissimum  Caesarem  Carolum  V.  Imperatorem 
Augustum";  and  he  cites  as  proof  that  Greene  knew  Paulus 
Jovius  passages  in  Farewell  to  Follie  (p.  337)  and  Royal 
Exchange  (p.  254).  Professor  Hart  corrects  Mr.  Gilbert  by- 
showing  that  Gre6ne  got  his  plot  for  Selimus  not  from 
Paulus  Jovius  directly,  but  indirectly  from  Primaudaye's 
Academy.^  The  belief  that  Selimus  was  written  about  1587, 
and  the  fact  that  then  was  a  time  when  Greene  was  borrow- 
ing very  extensively  from  Primaudaye,  especially  in  the 
Farewell  to  Follie,  Professor  Hart  regards  as  proof  of 
Greene's  authorship. 

Having  set  down  the  arguments  advanced  for  Greene's 
authorship  of  this  play,  I  now  give  those  against  it.  The 
first  is  that  of  Dr.  Wolff,^^  who  doubts  Greene's  authorship 
on  the  ground  of  the  characterization.  This  matter  he  thinks 
would  alone  be  decisive,  for  Selimus,  Acomat,  Corcut, 
Bajazet,  are  characters  so  well  rounded  and  individual  as 
to  seem  beyond  Greene's  power. 

Professor  Gayley  declines  to  think  Greene  the  author  of 
Selimus.  AUott,  he  says,  is  not  trustworthy,  for  he  assigns 
to  Greene  passages  which  do  not  belong  to  him  —  two,  for 
instance,  which  belong  to  Spenser.  Professor  Gayley  fails 
to  see  in  Selimus  any  traces  of  Greene's  diction,  sentiment, 
poetic  quality,  or  rhythmical  form.  As  a  suggestion,  he 
proposes  Lodge's  name  in  connection  with  Selimus,  on  the 
grounds  of  relationship  to  Civill  War  and  Mucedorus. 

23  Chap.  LIX.,  p.  642.  "Of  the  Education  of  a  Prince  in  Good 
Manners  and  Condicions." 

2^  Eng.  Stud.,  Vol.  37,  p.  359,  note. 


186  ROBERT   GREENE 

Collins  does  not  print  Selimus  in  his  edition  of  Greene, 
inasmuch  as  he  finds  Grosart's  arguments  unsatisfactory. 

The  latest  word  on  the  subject  is  that  in  the  Cambridge 
History  of  English  Literature,^^  of  which  the  material  is  taken 
from  an  unpublished  article  by  Mr.  F.  G.  Hubbard.  Mr. 
Hubbard  pointed  out  (1)  that  the  comic  scene  in  Locrine 
which  is  paralleled  in  Selimus  stands  alone  in  the  latter  play, 
while  in  Locrine  there  is  much  low  humor  of  the  same  kind 
in  connection  with  the  same  characters;  (2)  that  Locrine  pre- 
ceded Selimus  because  Locrine  has  many  lines  from  Spenser's 
Complaints  not  found  in  Selimus;  but  that  with  one  possible 
exception,  Selimus  has  nothing  from  the  Complaints  not  to 
be  found  in  Locrine;  (3)  that,  moreover,  one  of  these  bor- 
rowed lines  in  Selimus  is  followed  by  five  other  lines  not  in 
the  Complaints  but  in  Locrine;i>^  that  Locrine  and  Selimus 
are  not  by  the  same  man,  since  Selimus  has  borrowings 
from  the  Faerie  Queene  while  Locrine  has  none  [Collins 
believed  that  Locrine  and  Selimus  were  written  by  the 
same  man];    (5)    that  Locrine  was  not  completed  before 

1591,  when  the  Complaints  were  published  [As  a  matter  of 
fact  the  Complaints  circulated  widely  before  their  publica- 
tion]; (6)  that  a  line  near  the  end  of  Act  V.,  "One  mischief 
follows  on  another's  neck,"  is  apparently  copied  from  Tan- 
cred  and  Gismond  (published  1591,  with  preface  dated  August 
8)  —  a  line  not  given  in  the  earlier  MS.  version  of  the  play; 
(7)  that  since  Selimus  is  later  than  Locrine  (which  is  later 
than  August  8,  1591),  and  since  Greene  died  September  3, 

1592,  the  issue  of  Greene's  authorship  is  brought  within 
narrow  limits. 

Such  at  length  are  the  arguments  for  and  against  the 
attribution  of  Selimus  to  Greene.     The  only  conclusion  which 
can  be  justified,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  is  that  the  problem  has 
not  been,  probably  cannot  be,  settled. 
23  Vol.  v.,  p.  96. 


THE    PLAYS  187 

With  regard  to  George-a-Greene,  which  has  been  included 
among  Greene's  plays  by  Dyce,  Grosart,  Collins,  and  Dick- 
inson, the  problem  is  quite  as  complex  as  that  of  Selimus. 
No  one  of  these  men  is  satisfied  with  the  grounds  on  which 
he  included  the  play,  but  no  one  is  quite  content  to  leave 
the  play  out.     It  may  be  well  to  state  the  situation. 

On  the  title-page  of  the  1599  edition  are  the  following 
manuscript  notes: 

Written  by  ...  a  minister  who  acted  the  piners  pt  in  it  himselfe. 
Teste  W.  Shakespeare. 

Ed.  Juby  saith  that  the  play  was  made  be  Ro.  Greene. 

These  notes  were  made  by  different  persons.  The  hand- 
writing is  of  the  style  of  the  Elizabethan  age.  Upon  the 
value  of  these  memoranda  the  validity  of  the  ascription  of 
the  play  to  Greene  partly  depends.  And  it  can  be  said  at 
once  that,  so  far  as  that  validity  is  concerned,  all  scholars  are 
agreed  that  the  notes  are  of  decidedly  questionable  worth. 
In  the  first  place  it  can  only  be  assumed  that  they  are  the 
notes  of  contemporaries;  and  in  the  second  place  it  can  only 
be  assumed  that  they  are  genuine.  As  Mr.  Greg  says, 
no  one  can  judge  without  examining  the  original  notes,  and 
without  being  familiar  with  the  Ireland  and  Collier  forgeries.-^ 

The  attribution  of  George-a-Greene  to  Greene  on  the  basis 
of  the  notes  is,  therefore,  made  on  very  slender  evidence. 

The  other  basis  for  belief  or  disbelief  in  Greene's  author- 
ship has  been  found  within  the  play  itself.  The  internal 
evidence  has  been  variously  interpreted.  Mertins^^  thought 
the  play  was  not  by  Greene.  It  lacks,  Mertins  says,  the 
pompous  style  and  classical  references,  the  imaginative  ele- 
ments, the  poetical  diction,  the  Latin,  French,  and  Italian 
phrasing,  the  unusual  word  compounds,  the  ornate  epithets, 

2®  See  Appendix  II.,  where  these  notes  enter  into  the  discussion  of 
whether  or  not  Greene  was  at  one  time  a  minister. 

2'  Robert  Greene  and  the  Play  of  George-a-Greene.     Breslau,  1885. 


188  ROBERT   GREENE 

SO  common  in  Greene's  other  plays.  The  grammatical 
forms  are  different  from  Greene's;  the  meter  is  unlike 
that  of  Greene's  plays;  as  for  the  similarity  between  George- 
a-Greene  and  Friar  Bacon,  that  may  be  due  merely  to  the 
similarity  in  material. 

To  most  of  Mertins'  objections,  Professor  Collins  agrees. 
Yet  he  believes  the  play  to  be  Greene's,  and  he  includes 
it  in  the  edition  of  Greene's  works.  The  play  is  built,  he 
says,  as  Greene  built  plays;  the  types  of  character  are  like 
Greene's;  there  are  similarities  between  this  play  and  Friar 
Bacon  and  James  IV.  And  so  Professor  Collins,  ''though 
the  evidence  ...  is  far  from  conclusive,"  thinks  the  play 
should  be  given  to  Greene  because  "there  is  no  dramatist 
of  those  days  known  to  us  to  whom  it  could  be  assigned 
with  more  probability." 

Professor  Gayley-^  is  non-committal.  He  finds  in  George- 
a-Greene  the  skilful  plot,  the  popular  material,  such  as 
Greene  used  in  Friar  Bacon.  And  he  finds  here  and  there  a 
rhetorical  style  like  Greene's.  But  he  does  not  find  "the 
curious  imagery,  the  precious  visualizing,  the  necromantic 
monstrous  toys,"  nor  the  "conscious  affectation  of  uncon- 
scious art."  The  conversations,  while  sometimes  hke 
Greene's,  are  not  on  the  whole  equal  to  his  "humorous 
indirection  and  his  craft." 

Thus  the  matter  stands. 

Henslowe  records  five  performances  of  the  play  between 
December  29,  1593,  and  January  22,  1594.  But  the  first 
entry  is  not  marked  as  that  of  a  new  play.  The  title-page 
states  that  the  play  had  been  acted  by  the  Sussex  company, 
a  company  which  is  not  known  to  have  acted  at  that  time  any 
of  Greene's  unquestioned  plays,  although  the  Sussex  men 
soon  afterwards  joined  Greene's  company  in  the  production 
of  Friar  Bacon. 

28  Rep.  Eng.  Com.  p.  418. 


THE   PLAYS  189 

George-a-Greene  was  entered  to  Cuthbert  Burbie  on  April  1, 
1595.  The  earliest  known  copy  is  that  in  the  library  of  the 
Duke  of  Devonshire,  dated  1599,  and  uniform  as  to  printer, 
publisher,  year,  vignette,  and  motto  with  Orlando  Furioso. 

As  to  date,  nothing  is  known.  If  the  play  is  by  Greene, 
it  belongs  undoubtedly  just  before  or  just  after  James  IV. 
The  only  indication  of  date  within  the  play  is  that  in  line 
42  the  Earl  of  Kendal  says, 

"Lest  I,  like  martial  Tamburlaine,  lay  waste 
Their  bordering  countries." 

(C)  Greene  as  a  Dramatist 

It  was  following  fashion  which  turned  Greene  to  the  writ- 
ing of  plays.  Just  as  the  popularity  of  Euphues  started  him 
off  on  the  production  of  Mamillia,  and  as  Daphnis  and  Chloe 
gave  the  impulse  for  Menaphon  with  its  pastoralism,  so  the 
great  success  of  Tamburlaine  was  sufficient  to  focus  Greene's 
attention. 

Before  the  day  of  Marlowe  and  Kyd,  great  progress  had 
been  made  in  both  tragedy  and  comedy;  but  the  evolution, 
even  after  the  building  of  the  theaters,  had  been  gradual. 
With  the  exception  of  Lyly  no  man  stands  out  in  sharp  dis- 
tinction from  his  fellows  as  having  made  this  or  another 
contribution  to  the  art  of  play-writing.  The  plays  written 
before  1585,  for  the  most  part,  gave  an  impression  of  their 
impersonality.  Not  that  they  were  authorless,  but  that 
they  are  today  significant  more  as  types  and  as  mani- 
festations of  varied  dramatic  interests  than  as  products 
of  individual  men  possessed  of  individual  personalities. 
It  is  not  remarkable,  therefore,  that  Greene,  busy  with 
the  exploitation  of  prose  narrative,  and  engrossed  in  the 
discovery  of  his  own  powers  in  the  writing  of  fiction,  and 
eager  in  his  inculcation  of  new  standards  of  refinement, 


190  ROBERT   GREENE 

should  not  have  turned  to  the  writing  of  plays  before  he  did. 
Nor  is  it  remarkable  that  he  turned  when  he  did.  How- 
ever closely  engaged  in  one  kind  of  activity,  Greene  was 
never  so  indifferent  to  contemporary  literary  movements 
as  not  to  be  aware  at  once  of  the  entrance  of  a  new  force 
within  the  sphere  of  popular  favor.  And  so  it  was  that 
the  plays  of  Kyd  and  Marlowe  at  once  caught  his  eye. 

It  has  often  been  remarked  that  Greene's  plays  fall  into 
two  distinct  classes,  his  failures  and  his  successes.  The 
explication  of  this  one  fact  involves  what  is  essential  to  an 
understanding  of  Greene  as  a  dramatist.  There  is  Alphonsus, 
which  attempts  the  bloody  deeds  of  Mars;  and  there  is 
Friar  Bacon,  which  invites  refreshing  drinks  of  milk  in  the 
dairy-house  at  Fressingfield.  Both  classes  spring  from  very 
definite  qualities  of  Greene's  mind;  and  both  are  of  necessity 
what  they  are. 

Greene's  first  play  was  a  direct  outgrowth  from  Tambur- 
laine.  Because  of  that  fact,  it  was  a  failure.  Tamburlaine 
is  essentially  a  play  dependent  upon  the  character  of  its  hero 
to  sustain  interest.  The  march  of  events,  as  the  Scythian 
shepherd  advances  to  his  kingship  of  the  world  —  conquest 
following  conquest,  —  has  no  dramatic  interest  in  itself  as 
compared  with  the  interest  with  which  we  behold  the  revela- 
tion of  character  which  those  events  show.  The  action  of 
Tamburlaine,  lacking  in  complexity  and  in  unity,  forms  only 
a  succession  of  gorgeous  scenes  bound  together  by  a  unity  of 
characterization,  and  supported  by  the  power  of  the  im- 
agination with  which  the  hero  is  conceived.  Indomitable 
ambition,  unflinching  will,  unlimited  self-confidence  working 
themselves  out  to  their  desired  end  constitute  the  theme  of 
the  play,  and  give  English  literature  the  great  prototype  of 
Richard  III.,  Macbeth,  and  Milton's  Satan.  Tamburlaine 
is  a  tremendous  personality  swept  on  by  his  lust  for  power. 
In  his  greatness,  he  is  a  hard  character  to  imitate. 


THE   PLAYS  191 

Another  characteristic  of  Marlowe's  play  made  it  dis- 
tinctive. Abandoning  rhyme,  Marlowe  chose  blank  verse, 
and  in  so  doing  was  free  to  let  his  fancy  run.  He  was  able 
to  infuse  into  the  verse  of  the  play  something  of  the  spirit 
of  his  protagonist.  Thus  form  and  matter  harmonized,  and 
combined  to  make  the  effect,  the  Marlowesque,  full  of 
vaunting  thoughts  proclaimed  through  sonorous  and  high- 
sounding  language.  The  sublimity  of  Tamburlaine  gave  it 
power,^  —  the  power  which  Greene  felt,  but  could  not  copy. 

Alphonsus  —  whether  Alphonsus  V.,  king  of  Aragon, 
Sicily,  and  Naples  (died  1454)  or  Alphonsus  I.,  king  of  Ara- 
gon and  Navarre  (died  1134),  is  not  quite  clear  —  is  Tambur-  . 
laine  emasculated.  So  far  as  the  arrangement  of  scenes  is 
concerned,  Greene's  play  is  as  good  as  Marlowe's.  We  learn 
of  the  young  man's  plans  to  regain  his  father's  throne,  of 
the  successive  steps  in  the  realization  of  ambition,  of 
Amurack's  opposition  to  the  conquest,  of  Alphonsus'  fall- 
ing in  love  with  the  Sultan's  daughter.  Throughout  the 
play,  incident  follows  incident  naturally  and  effectively. 
The  trouble  with  the  play  is  not  in  the  development  of  the 
action.  It  is  rather  in  the  fact  that  Greene  was  not  able 
to  grasp  the  conception  of  the  forceful  personality  necessary 
to  the  success  of  a  play  which  depended  so  largely  upon  that 
conception  of  character.  The  abundance  of  strength,  the 
buoyancy  of  spirit,  with  which  Tamburlaine  compels  interest, 
were  not  in  Greene's  power  to  portray.  Tamburlaine  was 
the  very  worst  model  Greene  could  have  chosen. 

The  weakness  of  Alphonsus  is  very  apparent.  The  line 
of  action,  though  developing  naturally,  falls  into  two  parts. 
There  is,  in  reality,  the  play  of  Alphonsus,  followed  by  the 
play  of  Amurack  the  Turk.  The  lack  of  unity  in  action 
results  in  lack  of  unity  of  character.  Alphonsus,  nominally 
the  hero,  shares  his  prominence  with  his  opponent.  Indeed 
Amurack  is  given  the  more  prominence.     He  has  the  same 


192  ROBERT   GREENE 

elements  which  Alphonsus  has;  and  in  addition  he  is  en- 
grossed in  his  troubles  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  he 
is  involved  in  various  kinds  of  magic  incantations  which 
give  a  clap-trap  interest  to  his  career. 

But  the  lack  of  unity  in  Alphonsus  is  of  no  great  conse- 
quence in  view  of  the  play's  failure  to  convince.  Even  the 
faintness  and  the  inconsistencies  of  characterization  are  ab- 
sorbed in  this  fundamental  defect.  Marlowe's  Tamburlaine 
gathers  momentum  as  it  goes,  a  huge  ball  rolling  faster  and 
faster,  moved  -by  an  invisible  force  within.  Alphonsus 
gathers  no  mom^'entum  at  all.  Always  it  is  Greene,  behind, 
pushing  with  all  his  might,  and  laboriously  trying  to  move 
an  immovable  weight.  He  makes  much  noise,  and  you 
would  think  his  exertions  effective  if  it  were  not  that  the 
ball  is  ever  in  the  same  place. 

Greene's  imagination  could  not  encompass  intense  char- 
acter. Neither  could-  his  poetic  fancy  attain  the  necessary 
height.  Nowhere  in  the  play  is  there  a  passage  which  so 
combines  poetry  and  passion  as  any  random  passage  in  the 
work  of  Marlowe. 

"Slash  off  his  head!  as  though  Albinius'  head 
Were  then  so  easy  to  be  slashed  off: 
In  faith,  sir,  no;  when  you  are  dead  and  gone, 
I  hope  to  flourish  like  the  pleasant  spring." 

Act  II.,  Sc.  2. 
"As  for  this  carping  girl,  Iphigena, 
Take  her  with  thee  to  bear  thee  company, 
And  in  my  land  I  rede  be  seen  no  more, 
For  if  you  do,  you  both  shall  die  therefore." 

Act  II.,  Sc.  2. 
"Pagan,  I  say  thou  greatly  art  deceiv'd: 
I  clap  up  fortune  in  a  cage  of  gold, 
To  make  her  turn  her  wheel  as  I  think  best; 
And  as  for  Mars  whom  you  do  say  will  change, 
He  moping  sits  behind  the  kitchen-door, 
Prest  at  command  of  every  scullion's  mouth, 


THE    PLAYS  193 

Who  dares  not  stir,  nor  once  to  move  a  whit, 
For  fear  Alphonsus  then  should  stomach  it." 

Act  IV.,  Sc.  3. 

Some  critics  have  said  that  Alphonsus  is  not  an  imita- 
tion at  all  —  that  it  was  not  meant  as  imitation,  but  as 
parody.  Marlowe  had  had  one  hero.  Greene  would  have 
two.  Tamburlaine  had  met  with  no  opposition.  In  the 
parody,  let  there  be  two  conquering  boastful  heroes  bump- 
ing their  heads  together  and  endeavoring  to  beat  each  other's 
brains  out.  Or,  say,  it  would  be  as  if  one  should  turn  from 
admiring  a  fine  specimen  of  a  cock,  alone  in  his  splendor, 
to  the  spectacle  of  that  same  fowl  with  bloody  head  and 
ruffled  feathers,  engaged  in  the  most  ridiculous  of  contests, — 
a  rooster  fight. 

I  do  not  believe  that  Alphonsus  is  a  parody.  A  parody 
is  either  humorous  or  satirical/  Now  Alphonsus  is  not  obvi- 
ously humorous.  And  it  is  not  satirical.  To  interpret  it 
as  such  is  to  misunderstand  Greene.  Even  the  Quippe  for^ 
an  Upstart  Courtier  is  not  satirical,  abundant  as  its  possi- 
bilities for  satire  are.  Alphonsus  is  a  bad  play,  but  not 
because  it  is  poor  satire.     There  is  a  better  explanation. 

Experimenter  though  he  was,  Greene  was  no  critic.  He 
seems  never  to  have  learned  what  he  could  not  do.  In  the 
mass  of  his  work  there  is  good  and  bad  mingled  all  together. 
When  Greene  tdok  up  his  pen  it  was  with  no  discrimination. 
His  instinct,  not  his  judgment,  is  to  thank  for  what  is  good. 
His  misdirected  effort  is  to  blame  for  what  is  bad.  Alphonsus 
was  the  outcome  of  misapplied  energy.  There  was  no  par- 
ody about  it.  Tamburlaine  was  popular.  Greene,  with  the 
impulse  derived  from  his  ever  wishing  to  follow  a  leader, 
attempted  a  play  of  the  same  kind, —  and  produced  one  of 
the  worst  of  the  many  bad  Elizabethan  dramas. 

Orlando  Furioso  is  the  dramatization  of  the  incident  in 
Ariosto's  Romance  in  which  Orlando  goes  mad  through  love 


194  ROBERT   GREENE 

of  Angelica  and  through  jealousy  of  his  supposedly  success- 
ful rival.  At  the  palace  of  Marsilius,  emperor  of  Africa, 
various  suitors  are  urging  their  suit  for  the  hand  of  Angelica. 
Orlando  is  successful.  Sacripant  desires  Angelica  and  plots 
to  secure  her.  He  bids  his  servant  carve  the  names  of 
Angelica  and  Medor  on  the  trees.  Orlando,  believing  the 
treachery  of  Angelica,  goes  mad,  and  creates  the  famous 
scenes  of  entering  upon  the  stage  "with  a  leg  on  his  neck" 
and  of  ranging  through  the  woods  saying  "Woods,  trees, 
leaves;  leaves,  trees,  woods."  Angelica  is  banished  for  her 
supposed  unfaithfulness.  In  the  woods  she  meets  Orlando, 
who  does  not  recognize  her.  After  a  time  Melissa,  an 
enchantress,  restores  Orlando's  wits.  There  is  much  fighting 
— "they  fight  a  good  while,  and  then  breathe," — Angehca 
is  restored  to  her  home,  and  everything  ends  well. 

This  play  has  been  interpreted  as  a  parody  on  The  Spanish 
Tragedy.  Greene,  it  is  said,  was  satirizing  the  use  of  mad- 
ness on  the  stage,  an  element  in  the  drama  made  very  popu- 
lar by  Kyd's  play.  The  mad  Orlando  wandering  through 
the  forest  is  a  burlesque  on  the  raving  Hieronimo.  And 
"woods,  trees,  leaves"  is  only  ridicule  of  the  Grand  Mar- 
shal's discovery  of  his  dead  son's  body,  and  other  similar 
scenes. 

Orlando  is  universally  regarded  as  a  poor  play;  some  are 
inclined  to  regard  its  badness  as  intentional.  I  do  not 
agree  to  any  interpretation  which  regards  the  play  as  a 
parody.  I  think  that  it  is  a  failure;  and  a  failure  for  the 
same  reason  that  Alphonsus  is.  To  portray  insanity  well 
on  the  stage  is  a  great  imaginative  achievement,  as  King 
Lear  proves.  The  imagination  required  is  of  a  different  kind, 
from  that  required  to  produce  Tamhurlaine.  Less  sweeping 
but  none  the  less  intense.  Intensity,  keen  insight  —  without 
his  being  aware  of  the  deficiency  —  were  what  Greene  lacked. 
Orlando  Furioso  is  an  imitation  just  as  Alphonsus  is.     Both 


THE   PLAYS  195 

plays  were  meant  to  be  heroic.  Both  are  unpardonable  fail- 
ures. It  is  hard  upon  Greene  to  say  so.  But  there  is  no 
justice  in  trying  to  excuse  failure  under  the  name  of  parody. 
Better  to  say  at  once  that  Greene  was  trying  to  do  what  he 
could  not  do. 

Friar  Bacon  was  written  in  emulation  of  Dr.  Faustus. 
The  play  is  both  a  failure  and  a  success.  Inevitably  so: 
it  is  a  combination  of  two  elements.  There  is  the  story  of 
Bacon  and  the  brazen  head  which  he  had  constructed  — 
how  he  had  pursued  learning  and  had  become  a  powerful 
magician,  how  he  had  made  the  head  which  should  enable 
him  to  encircle  England  with  a  wall  of  brass,  how  Miles,  the 
dull  servant,  was  set  to  watch,  how  the  devil  came  and 
marred  all.  There  is  also  the  story  of  Margaret,  the  maid 
of  Fressingfield,  with  whom  Prince  Edward  fell  in  love  but 
whom  he  relinquished  in  favor  of  his  friend  who  had  been 
sent  to  woo  for  him.  This  second  story  is  a  development 
of  the  hint  in  the  old  Friar  Bacon  ballad  of  the  maid  wlp 
had  two  suitors,  and  who  preferred  the  lowly  one  to  the  one 
of  high  degree. 

With  regard  to  Friar  Bacon  himself,  Greene  was  endeav- 
oring to  copy  the  figure  of  Faustus,  all-wise,  all-powerful 
magician.  He  did  not  succeed.  There  is  nothing  sublime 
about  Bacon,  nothing  dignified.  His  sorcery  is  nothing  but 
clap-trap;  his  contests  with  Vandermast  only  stage  show, 
poor  spectacle  at  that.  Even  the  brazen  head,  as  manifes- 
tation of  Bacon's  power,  is  foolish,  however  much  a  source 
of  comedy  it  may  be  when  seen  through  the  eyes  of  Miles. 
Friar  Bacon  bears  the  same  relation  to  Dr.  Faustus  that 
Alphonsus  bears  to  Tamburlaine.  Friar  Bacon,  Alphonsus, 
Orlando,  all  demand  greatness  of  imagination;  and  Greene 
had  no  greatness  to  bestow.  All  three  are,  therefore,  not 
so  much  characters  which  are  true  but  only  faintly  por- 
trayed, as  they  are  mechanical  figures  poorly  constructed. 


196  ROBERT   GREENE 

If  Friar  Bacon  were  just  a  play  with  a  conjurer  as  hero 
(as  Greene  meant  it  to  be),  it  would  belong  with  Alphonsus 
and  Orlando  among  the  things  that  would  better  not  have 
been.  It  is,  however,  successful.  Greene  found  in  the  old 
ballad  upon  which  he  based  his  play  the  hint  of  a  story 
which  he  developed.  It  is  this  story,  originally  incidental, 
which  differentiates  Friar  Bacon  from  the  plays  that  had 

< preceded  it.  For  the  story  and  the  character  of  Margaret 
and  her  lover  predominate  over  the  story  and  character  of 
Friar  Bacon.  In  the  success  of  the  love  story,  and  in  the 
fusing  of  it  with  the  story  of  Bacon,  the  weakness  of  the 
magician  is  unheeded. 

Emphasizing  the  love  story  as  he  did,  Greene  became  for 
I  the  first  time  original  in  the  drama.  Marlowe  had  been 
his  model  in  the  earlier  plays,  and  Marlowe  had  provided 
the  starting-point  for  Friar  Bacon.  But  Friar  Bacon  —  the 
Friar  Bacon  we  remember  —  belongs  to  Greene  alone.  For 
the  very  reason  that  there  is  nothing  of  Marlowe  in  it,  it  is 
in  a  new  class.  Greene  could  not  copy  Marlowe,  but  he 
could  write  plays  of  his  own,  plays  distinctively  his  own. 

James  IV.  is  a  continuation  of  the  work  begun  in  Friar 
Bacon.  It  is  a  dramatization  of  a  tale  in  Cinthio's  Heca- 
tommithi  (3:1),  made  with  considerable  skill  and  some 
changes  from  the  source.^^  James  IV.  of  Scotland  is  mar- 
ried to  Dorothea,  the  daughter  of  the  king  of  England.  He 
immediately  confesses  his  love  for  the  Countess  Ida,  a 
confession  overheard   by  Ateukin.     Ateukin  devises  plots. 

®  The  greatest  change  is  in  the  opening  of  the  play.  The  long 
process -of  the  development  of  the  false  love  is  dispensed  with,  and  in 
the  opening  of  the  play  James  is  shown  to  be  in  love  with  Ida  at  the 
time  of  his  marriage  with  Dorothea.  In  the  play  Ateukin  overhears 
the  king's  statement  of  love  rather  than  hears  of  it,  through  some  one 
else  as  in  the  novel.  Greene's  changes,  on  the  whole,  make  for  con- 
densation and  dramatic  effectiveness. 


THE    PLAYS  197 

Dorothea  is  at  length  persuaded  of  her  husband's  faith- 
lessness and  flees  in  disguise,  accompanied  by  her  dwarf, 
Nano.  James  hires  an  assassin  who  attempts  to  put  Doro- 
thea to  death.  The  king  of  England  arrives  with  an  army. 
James  is  defeated.  Dorothea  comes  from  her  disguise. 
James  is  sorry  for  his  misdeeds  and  everything  ends  happily. 
This  play,  too,  is  free  from  the  influence  of  Marlowe,  and 
like  Friar  Bacon  it  is  successful. 

Failure  and  success,  then,  were  Greene's  results.  The 
cause  for  the  failure  has  been  shown  to  be  Greene's  lack 
of  an  intense  imagination  and  of  an  elevation  of  style  which 
could  enable  him  to  follow  the  model  created  by  Marlowe. 
It  remains  to  analyze  the  cause  of  Greene's  success  in  the 
plays  in  which  he  displayed  his  originality. 

A  study  of  Greene  as  a  dramatist  is  analogous  to  a  study 
of  him  as  a  novelist.  Alphonsus  and  Orlando  Furioso  corre- 
spond to  the  tales  of  Valdracko  and  Arbasto;  Friar  Bacon 
and  James  IV.  correspond  to  Menaphon  and  Pandosto  —  ■ 
the  former  failures,  and  the  latter  successes.  The  qualities 
which  make  Friar  Bacon  and  James  IV.  good  plays  are, 
therefore,  the  same  qualities  which  make  Menaphon  and 
Pandosto  good  novels.  The  success  in  all  cases  is  due  to 
the  charm  with  which  the  story  is  told. 

Whether  in  novel  or  in  play,  when  Greene  had  a  theme 
centering  around  a  heroine  rather  than  around  a  hero,  he 
was  at  his  best.     Greene  was  not  effeminate.     But  he  did 
have  a  delicacy  about  him,  a  refinement,  which  somehow  was 
displayed  in  two  charming  ways.     In  the  first  place,  hii 
imagination  when  dealing  with  women  characters  was  ableX 
to  bring  forth  creatures^for  whom  his  reader  can  feel  genuine   / 
interest  and  sympathy.     I  do  not  mean  that  Greene  created  / 
great   women   characters;     but   he   did    create    wholesome 
women.     In  the  second  place,  Greene  could  blow  through/ 
his  pages  the  freshness  of  the  out-of-doors. 


198  ROBERT    GREENE 

Medea,  Iphigena,  Melissa,  Angelica,  all  these  are  worth- 
less figures.  But  three  of  the  women  in  Greene's  plays 
are  of  importance.  These  are  Margaret,  Ida,  and  Dorothea. 
Ida  is  the  least  fully  protrayed.  But  she  is  a  fine  character. 
Whether  at  the  court  or  on  her  porch  in  the  country  she  is 
the  same,  firm  in  her  morality  to  resist  the  love  of  the  king, 
bright,  clean-minded,  calm,  serious.  Dorothea  is  descended 
from  the  type  of  faithful  women  who  are  true  in  the  face  of 
all-  disaster.  When  she  is  told  of  her  husband's  falseness, 
she  refuses  to  believe.  She  even  maintains  that  the  letter 
is  forged  which  contains  the  order  for  her  assassination. 
But  Dorothea  is  not  an  abstraction  of  faithfulness.  She 
is  human  in  her  faith,  she  is  virtuous,  she  is  lovely.  Trem- 
blingly she  sets  off  in  disguise  to  avoid  danger.  Affectionate 
toward  the  little  Nano  who  accompanies  her  in  her  distress, 
ready  to  forgive  wrong  before  forgiveness  is  asked,  beloved 
by  all  who  surround  her,  she  is  an  admirable  woman. 
/"  Margaret  is  Greene's  best  character;  and  she  is  charming 
indeed.  Margaret  is  a  lodge-keeper's  daughter,  young, 
vivacious,  witty,  beautiful.  She  is  clearly  portrayed.  She 
arouses  interest  as  she  goes  about  her  work,  as  she  gives  the 
prince  a  drink  from  her  dairy,  as  she  goes  ^vith  the  young 
country  folk  to  the  fair,  as  she  talks  with  Lacy  and  falls  in 
love  with  the  dashing  courtier.  She  is  faithful  to  the  man 
of  her  choice  even  though  her  other  suitor  is  the  king's  own 
son.  When  Lacy's  letter  comes,  telling  that  he  no  longer 
loves  her,  she  decides  to  be  a  nun;  and  if  you  do  not  know 
that  so  beautiful  a  play  must  perforce  end  happily,  you 
would  feel  sorry  for  her  as  she  makes  her  adieu, 

"Now  farewell,  world,  the  engine  of  all  woe! 
Farewell  to  friends  and  father!  welcome  Christ! 
Adieu  to  dainty  robes!  this  base  attire 
Better  befits  an  humble  mind  to  God 
Than  all  the  show  of  rich  habiliments. 


THE    PLAYS  199 

Farewell,  O  love,  and,  with  fond  love,  farewell, 
Sweet  Lacy,  whom  I  loved  once  so  dear! " 

Strangely  inconsistent  is  her  renouncing  of  the  convent  when 
she  learns  that  Lacy  has  but  tried  her  love.  Yet  happily 
so.  And  beautiful  is  her  joy  in  the  new  clothes  with  which 
she  decks  herself  for  her  marriage,  to  go  off  to  the  court  to 
live.     Pure,  unspoiled,  fresh,  Margaret  is  a  rare  creation^ 

Lovely  as  those  heroines  are,  and  important  as  they  are 
in  the  development  of  Elizabethan  drama,  the  figure  of 
Nano  is,  Professor  Woodberry  thinks,  the  real  connecting 
link  between  Greene  and  Shakespeare.  Certainly  there  is 
much  about  the  dwarf  which  is  of  interest.  He  does  stand . 
in  a  very  striking  way  between  the  Vice  of  the  moralities 
and  early  comedies  on  the  one  hand,  and  Launce  and  Touch- 
stone on  the  other.  Yet  he  is  significant  for  his  own  sake. 
Nano  is  the  product  of  the  same  imagination  which  pro- 
duced the  delightful  women.  He  is  delicately  drawn.  His 
little  body,  his  lightness  of  foot,  his  sprightliness,  his  wit,  his 
loyalty  to  his  mistress,  make  him  a  lovable  personality.  Yet 
personality  is  scarcely  the  correct  word.  Our  affection  for 
Nano  is  not  that  for  a  fellow  human  being.  It  is  rather  that 
given  to  a  pet  or  a  living  big  doll.  "What  wouldn't  one  give 
to  have  him  in  a  box  and  take  him  out  to  talk!" — as  Mrs. 
Carlyle  might  say.  ji^ 

The  figures  of  Ida,  Dorothea,  Margaret,  Nano,  do  much^ 
to  give  charm  to  Greene's  successful  plays,  and  constitute 
no  small  part  of  Greene's  contribution  to  the  drama.  The 
second  element  which  made  Greene's  success  was  the  out- 
of-doors  which  is  to  be  found  most  delightfully  in  Friar 
Bacon.  The  surcharged  atmosphere  of  courts  and  battle- 
fields clears  away  for  the  calm  air  of  Fressingfield  and  the 
activity  of  the  Harleston  Fair,  where  Margaret  shines 
"amongst  the  cream  bowls"  and  where  cheese  is  safely  "set 
upon  the  racks." 


200  ROBERT   GREENE 

"Well,  if  you  chance  to  come  by  Fressingfield, 
Make  but  a  step  into  the  Keeper's  Lodge; 
And  such  poor  fare  as  woodmen  can  afford, 
Butter  and  cheese,  cream  and  fat  venison, 
You  shall  have  store,  and  welcome  therewithal." 

Freshness  and  delicacy  are  Greene's  contributions,  mani- 
fested in  the  brightness  of  the  out-of-doors,  the  idyllic 
country  life,  the  attractive  women  of  his  comedies.  The 
rant  and  superficiality  of  the  earlier  plays  are  Greene's,  too. 
They  are  a  part  of  his  work,  and  reveal  a  definite  side  of  his 
make-up.  But  they  are  not  contributions.  Marlowe  had 
made  an  advance.  For  Greene  to  have  copied  Marlowe  — 
even  to  have  done  well  what  Marlowe  had  done  —  would 
have  been  no  addition.  To  have  copied  Marlowe  and  to 
have  failed,  is  loss.  In  the  later  plays,  however,  there  is 
originality  and  gain. 


a 


CONCLUSION 

It  cannot  but  be,  with  all  the  tangled  threads  of  discussion 
and  the  intricate  analyses,  that  the  idea  of  Greene  emerges 
somewhat  blurred  and  indistinct.  I  propose,  then,  as  shortly 
as  possible,  to  bring  together  the  results  of  the  foregoing 
chapters  into  a  summary.  Such  a  process  may  perhaps 
make  the  portrait  a  little  clearer. 

I  have  presented  Greene  as,  fundamentally,  a  man  of 
letters.  To  this  one  fact  all  other  facts  are  subordinate. 
The  statement  that  he  wrote  for  his  living  explains  Greene 
as  fully,  I  think,  as  any  single  statement  can.  It  was  this 
keeping  his  finger  on  the  pulse  of  the  day,  as  it  were,  which 
determined  the  course  of  his  career  and  which  developed  his 
characteristics  both  personal  and  literary. 

Greene  produced  many  works  of  many  kinds.  Beginning 
with  the  didactic  narrative  of  Lyly,  he  changed,  as  fashions 
changed,  in  order  to  follow  closely  the  general  trend  of 
Elizabethan  fiction.  Frame-work  tales,  romances,  prodigal 
stories,  repentances,  social  pamphlets  both  serious  and  not 
serious,  he  wrote  and  arranged  under  one  or  another  of 
his  three  mottoes.  And  because  no  one  of  those  forms  died 
out  in  his  lifetime  he  continued  occasionally  to  publish 
pamphlets  of  an  earlier  kind  after  he  had  for  the  most  part 
proceeded  to  a  later  one.  Once  Marlowe  and  Kyd  had 
drawn  his  attention  to  the  drama,  he  began  to  write  plaj'^s. 
Whenever  he  saw  an  opportunity,  in  season  or  out,  he  was 
ready  in  a  moment  with  something  for  the  market.  Hasty 
in  publication,  and  desiring  nothing  beyond  the  immediate 
sale,  Greene  took  no  thought  for  finishing  his  work  to  a 

201 


202  ROBERT   GREENE 

degree  of  perfection,  or  for  removing  from  it  flaws  that  might 
easily  have  been  removed.  Certain  qualities  of  style  he 
wanted  it  to  have  for  it  to  be  successful.  Further  than  that 
there  was  no  need  to  go.  Much  of  it,  consequently,  is  slip- 
shod. It  could  not  well  have  been  otherwise  in  view  of  the 
rapidity  with  which  Greene  wrote  it  and  of  the  end  he  had 
in  mind.  There  is  about  it,  however,  that  which  deserves 
praise.  Greene,  for  all  his  making  no  attempt  at  "winning 
credite,"  had  enough  of  real  ability  in  him  to  impart  signif- 
icance to  most  of  his  writings,  whether  in  the  way  of  intro- 
ducing continental  ideas  or  of  creating  narrative. 

To  us,  much  of  the  culture  is  commonplace  and  dull. 
We  are  no  longer  interested,  except  in  a  historical  way,  in 
the  new  ideas  on  manners  and  speech  which  were  of  so  much 
concern  to  the  Elizabethans.  But  in  the  narratives  we  can 
still  find  some  pleasure.  In  all  of  them  Greene  manifests 
skill  in  getting  the  story  along.  Slow  as  the  action  appears 
to  be,  with  the  obstructing  speeches  and  passions  and  tears, 
it  is,  in  truth,  usually  swift.  Characterization  is  less  strong. 
There  are  few  people  in  Greene's  works  whom  we  remember 
for  the  vividness  with  which  they  are  conceived.  Some  of 
them  have  a  delightful  air  of  refinement  and  charm;  some 
of  them  are  sufficiently  distinct  for  us  to  know  them  and  to 
become  interested  in  their  welfare  as  characters.  But  none 
are  great. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  there  is  an  evolution  in  the  works  of 
Greene  as  regards  the  kinds  of  pamphlets.  His  romances 
are  not  a  higher  literary  form  than  the  frame-work  tales, 
nor  did  the  former  arise  out  of  the  latter.  The  prodigal 
stories,  again,  were  a  progress  in  time  only,  and  developed 
from  an  interest  not  associated  with  the  romances.  The 
conny-catching  pamphlets  came  from  no  broader  attitude 
toward  life  than  did  any  of  the  works  which  had  preceded 
them. 


CONCLUSION  203 

The  earlier  novels  are  encumbered  with  all  the  Euphuistic 
adornment  that  Greene  could  well  bestow.  The  later  ones 
are  comparatively  simple.  The  difference  results  partly,  of 
course,  from  the  gradual  turn  of  the  age  in  the  direction 
of  simplicity;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  there  was  also  a 
growth  in  the  art  of  expression  by  Greene  himself.  While 
he  kept  morality  as  the  pretext  for  his  writing,  he  more 
and  more  appreciated  the  story  for  its  own  sake.  His  sen- 
tences became  shorter,  and  grammatical  to  a  degree  unknown 
in  the  beginning.  The  style  was  more  compact,  more  direct, 
and,  to  us  at  least,  more  effective. 

These  are  the  main  points  about  what  and  how  Greene 
wrote.  There  is  one  other.  Back  of  the  matter  and  the 
method  there  was  the  man.  We  began  with  the  man,  and 
we  shall  end  with  him. 

If  we  do  not  approach  Greene  in  the  right  way,  he  is  exceed- 
ingly tiresome.  There  is  much  about  him  that  is  superficial. 
If  we  cannot  see  beyond  the  didacticism  and  the  literary 
mannerisms,  —  speeches,  letters,  long-drawn  courtships,  and 
the  rest  of  it  —  Greene  is  very  stupid.  And  his  personality 
has  no  attraction  for  us  if  we  are  wholly  unsympathetic  for 
the  young  wits  who  attempted  to  flourish  in  Bohemia,  who 
lived  their  short  lives  and  died  untimely  deaths. 

But  if  our  nature  is  not  too  unlike  his,  we  find  much  that 
interests  us.  When  we  come  to  know  him,  Greene  appeals 
to  our  imagination.  About  the  idea  of  him  in  his  green 
cloak,  his  hair  a  little  over-long,  his  reddish,  pointed  beard 
"whereat  you  might  hang  a  jewel" — perhaps  a  slightly 
fantastic  figure  if  we  judge  him  closely  —  about  this  pic- 
ture, we  gather  the  characteristics  which  Greene  had,  and 
we  endeavor  to  recreate  him  in  our  mind's  eye.  We  think 
of  his  carelessness  and  his  lack  of  providence,  his  wilful  ways, 
his  separation  from  his  wife,  and  his  last  thought  of  her.  We 
remember  his  bravado,  a  certain  little  swagger  in  his  walk. 


204  ROBERT   GREENE 

a  pride  in  his  work  that  he  could  never  quite  down.  And 
his  sentimentality,  his  aphorisms,  his  tendency  to  preach, 
all  these  we  put  into  the  picture. 

We  pardon  the  tediousness.  We  take  pleasure  in  the  charm 
and  refinement  which  is  present  in  his  romances  and  his 
poems,  and  in  the  freshness  of  his  better  plays.  The  illus- 
trative tales  of  the  conny-catchers  give  us  keen  delight. 
But  we  must  have  humor  enough  not  to  interpret  them  too 
seriously. 

About  our  whole  conception  of  Greene  there  should, 
indeed,  be  something  humorous.  We  need  to  laugh  at  his 
oddities  rather  than  to  be  provoked  to  indignation  by  them. 
Greene  is  not  a  man  to  whom  life  unfolds  infinite  possi- 
bilities. He  has  no  visions  of  greatness.  Yet  he  does  not 
tell  us  to  the  contrary.  His  interest  is  in  the  affair  of  the 
day;  his  trade  is  his  chief  concern.  But  he  never  cracks  a 
smile  as  he  sets  about  to  expose  the  vices  of  London,  never 
acknowledges  for  a  moment  that  he  is  not  the  social  investi- 
gator he  pretends  to  be.  He  publishes  stories  of  repentance, 
and  leaves  it  to  us  to  discover  that  repentance  is  only  his 
necessary  machinery. 

He  lies  continually.  We  cannot  accept  a  word  he  says 
without  the  support  of  our  own  judgment.  It  is  not  the 
kind  of  lying,  however,  that  we  censure  harshly;  it  does 
nobody  harm.  We  are  inclined  to  be  a  little  out  of  temper 
sometimes;  we  wish  he  were  more  trustworthy,  for  it  would 
save  us  trouble  in  understanding  him.  But  after  all,  it's 
pretense  and  we  must  recognize  it  as  such. 

Greene  is  interested  in  appearances.  He  does  not  care 
about  the  real  worth  of  what  he  writes.  If  it  looks  well, 
he  is  satisfied.  Sincerity  is  not  among  his  ideals.  He 
gathers  up  all  sorts  of  information  from  widely  scattered 
sources,  he  attributes  quotations  now  to  one  man  and  now 
to  another,  he  repeats  himself,  he  is  inconsistent  over  and 


CONCLUSION  205 

over  again.  None  of  these  things  disturbs  his  peace  of  mind. 
He  says  nothing  about  them;  he  seems  to  be  unaware  that 
they  exist.  So  he  goes  cahnly  on.  Naive  we  might  almost 
think  him  to  be  if  we  did  not  know  otherwise. 

There  is  a  dark  side,  too.  Part  of  the  repentance  was 
genuine.  Although  we  may  laugh  up  our  sleeve  at  the 
childish  faith  in  the  credulity  of  man,  we  cannot  but  pity 
Greene  that  he  was  driven  so  hard.  "This  booke  hath 
many  things,  which  I  would  not  have  written  on  my 
Tombe,"  he  said  in  one  of  his  Prefaces;^  and  the  cry 
cannot  fail  to  reach  us.  The  works  had  not  been  bad;  nor 
the  life,  it  may  be,  so  bad  as  he  thought.  But  the  anguish 
for  them  both  was  not  lessened  thereby. 

Pity  does  not  grant  a  man  a  place  in  literature.  He  must 
deserve  it  on  other  grounds.  Greene's  place  is  secure  to 
him  for  the  historical  reason  that  he  was  one  of  the  Eliza- 
bethans. It  is  secure  also  through  the  charm  of  his  poems 
and  romances,  and  through  the  clever  social  pamphlets. 
Finally,  it  is  secure  through  the  personality  of  the  man 
himself. 

1  Vol.  XII.,  p.  196. 


APPENDIX  I 

TABULATION  OF  THE  FRAME-WORK  TALES 

Planetomachia,  1585. 

Venus  Tragedie. —  Italianesque,  on  the  model  of  the 
novella.     Analyzed   in   the  text,  p.  29. 

Saturnes  Tragedie. —  To  show  the  evil  influence  of  love. 
The  story  of  Rhodope  and  Psamneticus  of  Memphis, 
the  courtezan  who  became  queen. 

Penelopes  Web,  1587. 

First  Tale. —  To  show  wifely  obedience.  A  queen  put 
away  and  taken  again.  There  are  speeches  (p.  172, 
p.  173,  Vol  V.)  practically  like  some  in  Saturnes  Tra- 
gedie (p.  125,  p.  127,  Vol.  V).  The  situation  is  much 
the  same.  There  is  no  doubt  that  Greene  had  the  earlier 
story  in  mind  when  he  wrote  the  latter.  This  tale  is 
from  Cintio,  III,  5. 

Second  Tale. —  To  illustrate  chastity.  A  woman  loved  by 
a  nobleman  is  imprisoned  by  him.  She  escapes  and 
joins  her  husband.  The  nobleman  repents  and  gives 
them  riches. 

Third  Tale. —  To  praise  silence  in  women.  A  king  gives 
his  crown  to  the  son  whose  wife  is  most  virtuous,  that 
is,  best  able  to  keep  silence. 

Censure  to  Philautus,  1587. 

Ulisses  Tale. —  A  woman  elopes  with  a  gentleman  of  the 
court  whom  she  later  poisons.     Fearing  treachery  in 
her  husband's  reconciliation,  she  kills  herself. 
207 


208  ROBERT    GREENE 

Helenus  Tragedie. —  How  a  queen  outwitted  her  enemy 

who  was  in  possession  of  her  city. 
Hectors  Tragedie. —  To  illustrate  fortitude  in  a  soldier. 

The  eldest  of  three  brothers  defends  his  crown  against 

the  rebellion  of  his  united  younger  brothers. 
Achilles  Tragedie. —  On  liberality.     Roxader  of    Athens 

on  account  of  his  liberality  was  able  to  save  his  native 

city  and  to  be  made  dictator. 

Perymedes,  1588. 

First  Tale. —  Story  of  Marcella  and  Prestynes,  an  imita- 
tion of  Decameron,  II.  6.  The  tale  of  a  separation  of 
husband  and  wife  and  children  by  Fortune.  Of  their 
reunion. 

Second  Tale. —  A  romantic  story  of  a  poor  man  and  a  rich 
girl.  The  man  goes  away  to  make  his  fortune.  She 
follows,  but  is  shipwrecked.  She  is  cast  upon  the  same 
shore.  He  has  become  famous.  They  are  married 
and  go  back  to  their  home.  The  story  is  from  Decam- 
eron, V.  2. 

Third  Tale. —  A  young  woman  loves  a  poor  man;  her 
father  has  another  suitor  selected.  It  happens  that 
the  father  and  daughter  and  selected  suitor  are  ban- 
ished. They  lead  humble  lives.  The  poor  man  follows 
them,  wins  renown,  and  marries  the  girl. 

Alcida,  1588. 

First  Tale. —  Story  of  Fiordespine,  who  for  her  haughti- 
ness in  love  was  turned  into  a  marble  pillar. 

Second  Tale. —  Story  of  Eriphila,  who  for  her  fickleness 
was  turned  into  a  camelion.  (Some  passages  identical 
with  passages  in  Mamillia.) 

Third  Tale. —  Marpesia,  for  her  inability  to  keep  a  secret, 
was  turned  into  a  rose-tree. 


TABULATION   OP   THE    FRAMEWORK   TALES  209 

Ciceronis  Amor,  1589. 

The  Sheepheardes  Tale. —  A  pastoral.  How  Phillis  and 
Coridon  made  up  and  were  married. 

Orpharion,  1590. 

Orpheus  Tale. —  Tale  of  Lydia,  from  Ariosto,  34:7-43. 

Arions  Tale. —  How  Argentina  preserved  her  chastity  by 
promising  to  consent  to  her  lover  after  he  had  been 
confined  for  three  days  without  food,  and  how  the  lover 
broke  the  agreement  by  first  eating  meat. 

Mourning  Garment,  1590. 

The  Shepheards  Tale. —  A  pastoral.  How  Alexis  aban- 
doned Rosamond  for  Phillida,  and  how  Rosamond 
died  of  grief.  Whereupon  Alexis  hanged  himself  upon 
a  willow-tree. 

Francescos  Fortunes,  1590. 

The  Hosts  Tale, —  The  shepherdess  Mirimida  had  three 
suitors.  Letters  from  them  all  arrived  at  the  same 
instant.  She  appointed  a  meeting  with  them  all. 
When  they  had  promised  to  abide  by  her  decision,  she 
told  them  all  nay. 

Farewell  to  Follie,  1591. 

Peratios  Tale. —  Tale  of  Pride.  Vadislaus,  king  of  Buda, 
was  deposed  for  his  pride  and  tyranny,  and  went  forth 
to  wander  as  a  beggar. 

CosiMOS  Tale. —  Of  Lust.     Story  of  Semiramis. 

Berardinos  Tale. —  Of  Gluttony.  A  poor  man  unjustly 
judged  by  the  drunken  ruler,  invited  the  ruler  to  a  feast. 
While  the  ruler  was  drunk  the  poor  man  built  a  scaf- 
fold and  invited  the  citizens.  When  the  ruler  found 
that  he  was  to  be  hanged,  he  hanged  himself. 


210  ROBERT   GREENE 

Groatsworth  of  Wit,  1592. 

Lamilias  Tale. —  An  animal  story  with  a  hidden  meaning. 

Accounts  for  the  enmity  between  dogs  and  badgers. 
RoBERTOs  Tale. —  Of  the  fabliau  type.     Story  of  the  farmer 

bridegroom,  who  is  cheated  out  of  his  wife  and  forced 

to  marry  another  girl. 

Vision,  1590-92? 

Chatjcers  Tale. —  Of  the  fabliau  type.  Analyzed  in  the 
text,  p.  28. 

Gowers  Tale. —  A  tale  of  jealousy.  A  man  who  has  put 
away  his  wife  on  account  of  jealousy,  is  cured  of  his 
jealousy  by  a  magician  who  transforms  him  into  a  young 
man.  In  this  shape  he  tries  his  wife's  faith,  and  find- 
ing her  true  takes  her  back  again. 


APPENDIX  II 

MISCONCEPTIONS  CONCERNING   GREENE 

There  are  a  few  matters  which  remam  to  be  treated 
here.  These,  perhaps,  demand  an  apology  for  being  con- 
sidered at  all.  At  least,  if  they  cannot  be  totally  ignored 
they  are  no  longer  of  sufficient  importance  to  warrant  their 
inclusion  elsewhere  than  in  an  appendix.  Although  unmis- 
takably founded  on  errors,  they  have  so  continued  to  be 
discussed  seriously  by  Greene's  biographers  as  almost  to 
make  them  traditional,  and  a  discussion  of  them  unavoidable. 

I.  One  of  these  misapprehensions  is  that  of  Greene's 
connection  with  the  church.  Since  the  days  of  Dyce  various 
biographers,  Bernhardi,  Fleay,  and  Grosart,  have  argued  that 
Greene  was  at  one  time  a  minister.  Fuller  investigation  has 
shown  that  he  was  not.  The  situation  may  be  briefly  sum- 
marized as  follows: 

1.  In  1576,  a  Robert  Grene  was  presented  by  the  Queen 
to  the  rectory  of  Walkington  in  Yorkshire.^  There  is  no 
reason,  however,  on  the  basis  of  this  fact,  for  assuming  that 
Greene  was  connected  with  the  church,  inasmuch  as  he  was 
at  that  time  a  freshman  in  the  University. 

2.  Greene  cannot  have  been  he  who  was  Vicar  of  Tolles- 
bury  in  Essex  from  June  19,  1584,  to  February  17,  1586;  ^ 

»  Rymer's  Foedra,  Vol.  XV,  p.  765. 

2  The  entry  (in  Newcourt's  Repertorium,  Vol.  II,  p.  602,  which  uses 
as  its  authority  Bp.  Grindal's  Register,  fol.  213;  fol.  225)  is  as  follows: 

"Tollsbury. 
Rob.  Grene  cl.  19  Jun.  1584,  per  mort.  Searles. 
Barth.  Moody,  cl.  17  Feb.  1585,  per  resign.  Grene." 
211 


212  ROBERT   GREENE 

for  that  period  in  Greene's  life  was,  by  his  own  account, 
filled  with  other  events. 

3.  He  cannot,  as  Mr.  Fleay  thought,^  be  identified,  as 
Robert  the  parson,  with  the  Robert  Persj  or  Rupert  Persten 
who  was  with  the  Earl  of  Leicester's  troupe  on  the  Continent 
from  December  1585,  to  July,  1587.  We  have  no  evidence 
that  Greene  formed  a  part  of  this  troupe.  It  is,  moreover, 
useless  to  attempt  to  make  parson  out  of  the  Persj  or  Persten 
as  it  appears  in  the  Saxon  and  Danish  records.  Besides, 
if  Greene  was  Vicar  of  ToUesbury,  as  Fleay  said  he  was,  he 
must  have  been  abroad  as  a  member  of  a  troupe  of  players 
during  three  months  of  the  time  that  he  was  preaching  in 
Essex. 

4.  Greene  himself  does  not  speak  of  having  been  a 
minister.  Nor  do  any  of  his  contemporaries,  Nashe,  Burbye, 
Dekker,  Heywood,  Chettle, —  not  even  the  arch-enemy, 
Gabriel  Harvey. 

5.  A  passage  in  the  Epistle  Dedicatorie  to  the  anon- 
ymous tract  Marline  Mar-Sixtus  has  been  taken  to  refer  to 
Greene  as  a  minister.  This  tract  was  issued  in  1591,  and 
was  re-issued  with  change  of  date  only  in  1592.  The  epistle 
is  signed  R.  W.^  and  clearly  refers  to  Greene  in  the  words 
about  those  who  "are  faine  to  put  on  mourning  garment, 
and  cry.  Farewell."  But  the  words,  "I  loathe  to  speake  it, 
every  red-nosed  rimester  is  an  author,"  whether  they  refer 
to  Greene  or  not,  are  those  from  which  the  misunderstand- 
ing has  come.  It  is,  though,  a  misunderstanding  which  is 
removed  at  once  when  the  word  is  seen  to  be  not  minister, 
as  Dr.  Grosart  read,  but  rimester. 

6.  Much  has  been  made,  at  times,  of  certain  manuscript 

^  Life  of  Shakespeare  pp.  92,  105;    Hist.  Stage,  p.  82. 

*  This  Epistle  is  reprinted  in  Notes  and  Queries,  10th  Ser.,  No.  2, 
Dec.  17,  1904;  and  the  suggestion  is  there  made  that  R.  W.  was  Richard 
WiUes. 


MISCONCEPTIONS    CONCERNING   GREENE  213 

notes  on  the  title-page  of  the  1599  edition  of  The  Pinner  of 
Wakefield.     These  notes  are: 

(a.)  "Written  by  ...  a  minister  who  acted  the  piner's 
pt  in  it  himselfe.     Teste  W.  Shakespeare." 

(6)  "Ed.  Juby  saith  that  the  play  was  made  by  Ro. 
Greene." 

Reasoning  on  the  evidence  of  these  notes  is  unsound  for 
it  must  be  remembered,  as  Mr.  Gayley  well  says,^  "that 
both  attributions  are  hearsay;  that  both  notes  are  anon- 
ymous, that  one  or  both  may  be  fraudulent;  ^  that  there 
is  no  certain  proof  that  they  were  written  by  contempora- 
ries; and  that,  unless  their  contents  are  shown  to  be  accu- 
rate as  well  as  authentic,  they  do  not  connect  any  Robert 
Greene  with  the  ministry." 

II.  Another  of  the  misapprehensions  concerning  Greene 
is  that  he  was  at  one  time  an  actor.  That  Greene  was  an 
actor  was  held  particularly  by  Dyce  and  Fleay,  the  former 
of  whom  misinterpreted  certain  of  Harvey's  remarks  about 
Greene's  "wilde  head,  full  of  mad  brain  and  a  thousand 
crotchets;"  the  latter  of  whom  was  anxious  to  identify 
Greene  the  parson  as  an  actor  in  Leicester's  troupe.  There 
is,  however,  no  reason  on  the  grounds  taken  by  Dyce  or 
Fleay,  nor  on  any  other  grounds,  for  thinking  that  he  was 
ever  professionally  an  actor.  Neither  he  nor  any  of  his 
contemporaries  says  anything  about  it. 

III.  That  Greene  was  once  studying  to  become  a  physi- 
cian has  often  been  stated  in  biographies  of  him.  The  basis 
of  the  statement  has  of  course  been  the  occurrence  of  the 
phrase  "student  in  phisicke"  on  the  title-page  of  Planeto- 

^  Representative  English  Comedies,  p.  401. 

^  It  seems  good  to  call  attention  to  a  remark  made  by  Mr.  Greg  in 
Mod.  Lang.  Rev.  1906,  p.  244.  He  said,  "One  to  be  competent  to 
judge  (in  regard  to  these  manuscript  notes)  must  examine  the  original 
notes,  and  also  be  familiar  with  the  Ireland  and  the  Collier  forgeries." 


214  ROBERT   GREENE 

machia,  1585.  But  the  presence  of  these  words  does  not  in 
any  way  warrant  the  assumption  that  Greene  was  a  student 
of  medicine.  Inasmuch  as  Planetomachia  is  a  pamphlet  de- 
signed to  set  forth  the  opposition  of  the  planets  and  to  be 
an  exposition  concerning  their  influence,  it  seems  better  to 
interpret  the  phisicke  in  the  sense  of  natural  philosophy,  in 
which  sense  it  is  used,  for  example  in  Thomas  Bowes'  trans- 
lation of  Primaudaye's  French  Academy  (1586)  as  "the 
studie  of  naturall  things:  metaphysycke,  which  is  of  super- 
natural things;"  and  to  believe  that  Greene  used  the  word 
merely  that  he  might  speak  with  pretended  authority  on 
the  subject  of  the  stars. 


APPENDIX  III 

EARLY   ALLUSIONS  TO   GREENE 

In  the  following  pages  no  attempt  is  made  to  bring  together 
all  the  early  allusions  to  Greene.  Only  those  are  printed 
which  seem  to  help  in  forming  an  estimate  of  how  Greene 
was  regarded  by  his  contemporaries. 

1.  Letter  by  Christopher  Bird.  Aug.  29, 1592.  Harvey's 
Works,  Ed.  Grosart.     Vol.  I,  p.  160. 

"In  steed  of  other  novels,  I  sende  you  my  opinion,  in  a  plaine,  but 
true  Sonnet,  upon  the  famous  new  worke,  intituled,  A  Quippe  for  an 
upstart  Courtier;  or,  forsooth,  A  quaint  Dispute  betweene  Velvet-breeches, 
and  Cloth-breeches;  as  fantastical!  and  fond  a  Dialogue,  as  I  have 
seene:  and  for  some  Particulars,  one  of  the  most  licentious,  and  in- 
tolerable Invectives,  that  ever  I  read." 

A  due  Commendation  of  the  Quipping  Autor. 

Greene  the  Connycatcher,  of  this  Dreame  the  Autor. 

For  his  dainty  devise,  deserveth  the  hauter. 

A  rakehell:  A  makeshift:  a  scribling  foole: 

A  famous  bayard,  in  Citty,  and  Schoole. 

Now  sicke,  as  a  Dog:  and  ever  brainesick: 

Where  such  a  raving,  and  desperate  Dick? 

Sir  reverence,  A  scurvy  Master  of  Art. 

He  sweared  inough  .  .  . 

Aunscornes  ther  Aunswere:  and  Envy  Salutes 

With  Shortest  vowels,  and  with  longest  mutes. 

For  farther  triall,  himself  he  referres 

To  proofe,  and  sound  judgment,  that  seldome  erres. 

Now  good  Robin-good-fellow,  and  gentle  Greene-sleeves, 
Give  him  leave  to  be  quiet,  that  none  aggreeves. 

2.  Harvey's  The  Second  Letter.     Sept.  5,  1592. 

My  next  businesse  was  to  enquire  after  the  famous  Author:  who  was 
reported  to  lye  dangerously  sicke  in  a  shoemakers  house  near  Dow-gate: 

215 


216  ROBERT   GREENE 

not  of  the  plague,  ...  as  a  Gentleman  saide,  but  of  a  surfett  of  pickle 
herringe  and  reunish  wine,  or  as  some  suppose,  of  an  exceeding  feare. 
For  in  his  extreamest  want,  he  offered  ten,  or  rather  then  faile  twenty 
shiUinges  to  the  printer  (a  huge  som  with  him  at  that  instant)  to  leave 
out  the  matter  of  the  three  brothers,  p.  162. 

I  was  suddainely  certified,  that  the  king  of  the  paper  stage  (so  the 
Gentleman  tearmed  Greene)  had  played  his  last  part,  &  was  gone  to 
Tarleton:  whereof  I  protest,  I  was  nothing  glad  .  .  .  because  I  was 
Deprived  of  that  remedy  in  Law,  that  I  entended  against  him,  in  the 
behalfe  of  my  Father,     p.  167. 

Looke  for  my  Confutation  of  his  fine  Quippe  .  .  .  whome  his  sweete 
hostisse,  for  a  tender  farewell,  crowned  with  a  Garland  of  Bayes:  to 
shew,  that  a  tenth  Muse  honoured  him  more  being  deade,  than  all  the 
nine  honoured  him  alive,     p.  172. 

Here  lies  the  man,  whom  mistrisse  Isam  crown'd  with  bayes; 

Shee,  shee,  that  joyed  to  heare,  her  Nightingales  sweete  layes. 

p.  1. 

3.     Harvey's  Third  Letter.     Sept.  8  &  9,  1592. 

Thanke  other  for  thy  borrowed  &  filched  plumes  of  some  little 
Itahanated  bravery;  &  what  remaineth,  but  flat  Impudencie,  and 
grosse  Detraction:  the  proper  ornaments  of  thy  sweete  utterance? 
p.  187. 

I  am  not  to  extenuate  or  prejudice  his  wit,  which  could  not  any 
way  be  great,  though  som  way  not  the  least  of  our  vulgar  writers,  & 
mani-waies  very  ungracious:  but  who  ever  esteemed  him  either  wise, 
or  learned,  or  honest,  or  any  way  credible?     p.  189. 

The  second  Toy  of  London;  the  Stale  of  Poules,  the  Ape  of  Euphues, 
the  Vice  of  the  Stage,  the  mocker  of  the  simple  world:  .  .  .  Peruse  his 
famous  bookes:  and  in  steede  of  Omne  tulit  punctum,  qui  miscuit  utile 
dulci  (that  forsooth  was  his  professed  Poesie)  Loe  a  wilde  head,  ful 
of  mad  braine  and  a  thousand  crotchets:  A  schoUer,  a  Discourser,  a 
Courtier,  a  ruffian,  a  Gamester,  a  Lover,  etc.,  p.  189. 

But  I  pray  God  they  have  not  done  more  harme  by  corruption  of 
manners,  than  by  quickening  of  witte:  and  I  would,  some  Buyers  had 
either  more  Reason  to  discerne,  or  lesse  Appetite  to  desire  such  Novels, 
p.  190. 

The  Countesse  of  Pembrokes  Arcadia  is  not  greene  inough  for  queasie 
stomackes,  but  they  must  have  Greenes  Arcadia:  and  I  beleeve  most 
eagerlie  longed  for  Greenes  Faerie  Queene.     p.  191. 


EARLY  ALLUSIONS  TO  GREENE  217 

4.  Chettle.  Kind-harts  Dreame.  Dec.  8,  1592.  Ed. 
Rimbault.  Percy.  Soc.  Vol.  5. 

About  three  moneths  since  died  M.  Robert  Greene,  leaving  many 
papers  in  sundry  Booke  sellers  hands,  among  other  his  Groats-worth  of 
wit,  in  which,  a  letter  written  to  divers  play-makers,  is  offensively  by 
one  or  two  of  them  taken  .  .  .  For  the  first,  whose  learning  I  reverence, 
and,  at  the  perusing  of  Greenes  booke,  stroke  out  what  then,  in  con- 
science I  thought,  he  in  some  displeasure  writ :  or  had  it  been  true,  yet 
to  publish  it  was  intollerable :  him  I  would  wish  to  use  me  no  worse 
than  I  deserve.  I  had  onely  in  the  copy  this  share,  it  was  il  written, 
as  sometime  Greenes  hand  was  none  of  the  best,  ...  To  be  briefe,  I 
writ  it  over.     p.  iv. 

With  him  was  the  fifth,  a  man  of  indifferent  yeares,  of  face  amible, 
of  body  well  proportioned,  his  attire  after  the  habite  of  a  schoUer-Uke 
gentleman,  onely  his  haire  somewhat  long,  whome  I  supposed  to  be 
Robert  Greene,  maister  of  Artes.  .  .  .  He  was  of  singular  pleasaunce, 
the  verye  supporter,  and,  to  no  mans,  disgrace  bee  this  intended,  the 
only  comedian,  of  a  vulgar  ■WTiter,  in  this  country,     p.  11. 

5.  Nashe,  Foure  Letters  Confuted.  Jan.  12,  1593. 
Ed.  McKerrow. 

Had  hee  liv'd,  Gabriel,  ...  he  would  have  made  thee  an  example 
of  ignominy  to  aU  ages  that  are  to  come,  and  driven  thee  to  eate  thy 
owne  booke  butterd,  as  I  sawe  him  make  an  Apparriter  once  in  a 
Tavern  eate  his  citation,  waxe  and  all,  very  handsomely  serv'd  twixt 
two  dishes,     p.  271. 

Is  my  stile  like  Greenes  or  my  jeaste  like  Tarltons?  Do  I  talke  of 
any  counterfeit  birds,  or  hearbs,  or  stones,  or  rake  up  any  new-found 
poetry  from  under  the  wals  of  Troy?     p.  319. 

Of  force  I  must  graunt  that  Greene  came  oftner  in  print  than  men 
of  judgment  allowed  off,  but  neverthelesse  he  was  a  daintie  slave  to 
content  the  taile  of  a  Tearme,  and  stuffe  Serving  mens  pockets,     p.  329. 

What  Greene  was,  let  some  other  answere  for  him  as  much  as  I  have 
done;  I  had  no  tuition  over  him;  he  might  have  writ  another  Galataeo 
of  manners,  for  his  manners  everie  time  I  came  in  his  companie:  I 
saw  no  such  base  shifting  or  abhominable  villanie  by  him.  Something 
there  was  which  I  have  heard,  not  seene,  that  hee  had  not  that  regarde 
to  his  credite  in,  which  had  beene  requisite  he  should,     p.  330. 


218  ROBERT   GREENE 

6.  Greenes  Newes  both  from  Heaven  and  Hell,  Anon. 
1593. 

You  have  beene  a  busie  fellowe  with  youre  penne,  it  was  you  that  writ 
the  Bookes  of  cony-catching,  but  sirra,  could  you  finde  out  the  base 
abuses  of  a  company  of  petty  varlets  that  Hved  by  pilfering  cosonages, 
and  could  you  not  as  well  have  descryed  the  subtill  and  fraudulent 
practises  of  great  conny-catchers,  such  as  rides  upon  footeclothes,  and 
sometime  in  coatches,  and  waUces  the  streets  in  long  gownes  and  velvet 
coates? 

7.  Greenes  Funeralls.     1594.     By  R.  B. 

(A  series  of  verses  eulogizing  Greene  most  highly.  Valuable  for  its 
list  of  Greene's  works.) 

8.  Warner.     Pan  his  Syrinx.     1584.     In  2nd  Ed.  1597. 

A  schoUer  better  than  my  selfe  on  whose  grave  the  grasse  now 
groweth  green,  whom  otherwise,  though  otherwise  to  me  guiltie,  I  name 
not. 

(Warner  is  probably  accusing  Greene  of  plagiarism  in  that  he  took 
the  plot  of  Never  too  Late  from  his  Opheltes.) 

9.  Francis  Meres.  Palladis  Tamia.  1598.  An  English 
Garner.  Critical  Essays  and  Literary  Fragments,  with  an 
Introduction  by  J.  Churton  Collins. 

As  Achilles  tortured  the  dead  body  of  Hector;  and  as  Antonius  and 
his  wife  Fulvia  tormented  the  lifeless  corpse  of  Cicero;  so  Gabriel 
Harvey  hath  showed  the  same  inhumanity  to  Greene,  that  lies  fuU  low 
in  his  grave,     p.  19. 

10.  Rowlands.  Tis  Merrie  when  Gossips  Meete.  1602. 
Hunterian  Club.  A  conference  between  a  gentleman  and 
an  apprentice. 

Prentice 
What  lacke  you  Gentle-man?    See  a  new  Booke  new  come  foorth. 
Sir:   buy  a  new  Booke,  sir. 

Gentleman 
New  Booke  say'st:    Faith  I  can  see  no  prettie  thing  come  foorth 
to  my  humours  liking.     There  are  some  old  Bookes  that  I  have  more 
delight  in  than  in  your  new,  if  thou  couldst  help  me  to  them. 


EARLY   ALLUSIONS   TO   GREENE  219 

Prentice 
Troth  sir,  I  thinke  I  can  shew  you  as  many  of  all  sorts  as  any  in 
London,  sir. 

Gentleman 

Can'st  helpe  mee  to  all  Greenes  Bookes  in  one  volume?  But  I  will 
have  them  every  one,  not  any  wanting. 

Prentice 
Sir;   I  have  the  most  part  of  them,  but  I  lacke  Conny-catching,  and 
some  halfe  dozen  more:    but  I  thinke  I  could  procure  them.     There 
be  in  the  Towne  I  am  sure  can  fit  you. 

11.  Dekker.  A  Knights  Conjuring.  1607.  Percy  So- 
ciety.    Ed.  Rimbault,  Vol.  5.  p.  76. 

These  were  likewise  carowsing  to  one  another  at  the  holy  well, 
some  of  them  singing  Paeans  to  ApoUo,  som  of  them  hymnes  to  the 
rest  of  the  Goddes,  whil'st  Marlow,  Greene,  and  Peele  had  got  under 
the  shades  of  a  large  vyne,  laughing  to  see  Nash  (that  was  but  newly 
come  to  their  Colledge)  atiil  haunted  with  the  sharpe  and  satyricall 
spirit  that  followed  him  here  upon  earth. 

12.  Overbury.  Characters.  Ed.  Rimbault.  1890.  p. 
101.     A  Chamber-maide. 

She  reads  Greenes  works  over  and  over. 

13.  Taylor.  The  Water  Poet.  Works,  Ed.  1630. 
Spenser  Soc.     1869.     Praise  of  Hemp-Seed,  p.  72. 

In  Paper  many  a  Poet  now  survives 
Or  else  their  lines  had  perish'd  with  their  lives, 
Old  Chaucer,  Gower,  and  Sir  Thomas  More, 
Sir  PhUip  Sidney  who  the  LawreU  wore, 
Spencer,  and  Shakespeare  did  in  Art  excell, 
Sir  Edward  Dyer,  Greene,  Nash,  Daniel, 
Silvester  Beaumont,  Sir  John  Harington. 

14.  Heywood.  Hierarchic  of  the  Blessed  Angels.  1635, 
p.  206. 

Greene  who  had  in  both  Academies  ta'en 
Degree  of  Master,  yet  could  never  gaine 
To  be  called  more  than  Robin. 


./ 


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■/ 


INDEX 


Achilles  Tatius,  35 

Acolastus,  54,  55,  56  (summary), 

58,  67,  72 
Adventures  of  Master  F.  J.,  120 
Ethiopian  History,  The,  35 
Alarum  against  Usurers,  91,  92  n. 
Albions  England,  40 
Alcida,  25,  72  n.,  167,  168  n.,  176 
AUott,  Robert,  184,  185 
Alphonsus,  174-177,  184,  190-193, 

194,  196,  197 
Anacreon,  137 

Anatomie  of  Absurditie,  168  n. 
Ann  of  Bohemia,  38 
Arbasto,  27,  37,  39,  45,  59,  165 
Arcadia,  6,  32  n.,  34,  41 
Ariosto,  193 

Astrophel  and  Stella,  135 
Audeley,  John,  87  n. 

Bacon,  Francis,  48 
Bamfield,  Richard,  146,  162 
Belleau,  Remy,  137 
Blacke  Booke,  3,  103  n.,  116 
Blacke   Bookes   Messenger,   3,   82, 

100,  104,  107-109,  115,  173 
Breton,  Nicholas,  146,  155,  162 
Browne,  William,  146 

C.  Mery  Talys,  110 

Carde  of  Fancie,    7,    37,    39,    48, 

65-66,  165 
Caveat   or    Warning  for   Commen 

Cursetors,  85  n.,  91,  92 


Censure  to  Philautus,  23-24,  167 
Chettle,  Henry,  169 
Chevalier  du  Soliel,  Le,  38  n, 
Cinthio,  Giraldi,  31  n.,  196 
City  Nightcap  (Davenport's),  43  n. 
Clitophon  and  Leudppe,  35 
Cobler  of  Canterbury,  The,  54,  70, 

170 
Complaints   (Spenser's),   175,   186 

Daniel,  Samuel,  175  n. 

Daphnis  and  Chloe,  35,  39,  189 

Day,  Angel,  35,  39 

Debate  between  Pride  and  Lowli- 
ness, 122,  124 

Decameron,  21 

Defence  of  Conny  Catching,  82, 
96-107,  109,  111,  120,  172, 
179 

Dekker,  Thomas,  10,  92  n. 

Deloney,  Thomas,  10 

Diary  (Henslowe's),  178,  180 

Disputation  betweene  a  Hee  and  a 
Shee  Conny-Catcher,  82,  99,  100, 
103  n.,  105,  107,  115-121,  124, 
172 

Doctor  Faustu^,  195 

Dowgate,  The  shoemaker  of,  4 

Drayton,  Michael,  175  n. 

El  Relox  de  Prindpes,  11 
Englands  Helicon,  174  n. 
Englands  Parnassus,  184 
Estienne,  Henri,  137 


227 


228 


INDEX 


Euphues,  10, 13-17,  35,  37,  45,  47, 

55,  63,  76  n.,  78  n.,  189 
Euphues  Shadow,  16  n. 

Faerie  Queene,  186 
Faire  Em,  180,  181 
Farewell  to  Follie,  23,  69,  70,  72, 

80,  103  n.,  166  n.,  167,  171,  172, 

181,  185 
Fenton,  Geoffrey,  11,  16,  127 
Francescos  Fortunes,  27,  59-62,  63, 

65,  68,  71,  80,  103  n.,  141,  154, 

155,  169,  171,  172 
Fraternitye    of    Vacabondes,    The, 

87  n. 
Friar  Bacon,  78  n.,  180-181,  184, 

188,  190,   195-196,   197,   199 

Gascoigne,  George,  12  n.,  20, 
120,  127,  134  n.,  146  n.,  148, 
178  n. 

George-a-Greene,  The  Pinner  of 
Wakefield,    182,    184,    187-189 

Gli  Asolani,  20 

Glasse  of  Government,  55  n. 

Ghaepheus,  54 

Governor  (Elyot's),  11 

Greene,  Robert,  brief  summary  of 
his  life,  1-2;  personal  appear- 
ance and  character,  2-3;  last 
illness  and  death,  3-4;  letter  to 
his  wife,  3-4;  general  attitude 
toward  literature,  5;  general 
Uterary  qualities,  5-8;  his  mot- 
toes, 9;  his  Mamillia,  14-19; 
his  Morando,  21-22;  his  Fare- 
well to  Follie,  23;  his  Censure  to 
Philautus,  23-24;  his  Penelopes 
Web,  25;  his  Aldda,  25;  his 
Planetomachia,    25;     his    Pery- 


medes,  26;  his  Orpharion,  26;  as 
an  introducer  of  ItaUan  thought, 
27;  his  Tompkins  the  Wheel- 
wright, 28;  his  story  of  Val- 
dracko,  29;  the  narrative  art 
of  his  frame- work  tales,  28-34; 
his  relations  with  Greek  Ro- 
mance, 34  seq.;  his  Second  Part 
of  Mamillia,  37;  his  Arbasto,  37; 
his  Pandosto,  37-39;  his  Mena- 
phon,  39-42;  his  Philomela,  43; 
his  Ciceronis  Amor,  43;  his 
attitude  toward  Fortune,  43; 
conventionality  of  his  style  in 
fiction,  45-49;  his  character- 
ization, 49-52;  his  Spanish 
Masquerado,  53;  his  Royal  Ex- 
change, 53;  his  adoption  of  the 
motto,  sero  sed  serio,  53-54; 
influence  of  the  prodigal  son 
story  upon  him,  55  seq.;  his 
Mourning  Garment,  56-59;  his 
Never  too  Late,  and  Francescos 
Fortunes,  59-62;  his  Mirrour  of 
Modestie,  61 ;  his  Groatsworth  of 
Wit,  62-65,  72-76;  his  Carde 
of  Fancie,  65-66;  interpreta- 
tion of  his  prodigal  son  pam- 
phlets, 66-72;  Gabriel  Harvey's 
account  of  his  death,  74; 
purity  of  his  writings,  75; 
his  Repentance,  76-79;  his 
travel  on  the  continent,  77  n.; 
a  list  of  his  social  pamphlets,  82; 
his  Notable  Discovery  of  Coos- 
nage,  82-83;  his  Second  Part 
and  his  Thirde  Part,  83;  his 
adoption  of  the  motto,  nascimur 
pro  patria,  84  seq.;  his  de- 
fence of  the  style  of  the  social 
pamphlets,  85  n.;   the  serious- 


INDEX 


229 


ness  of  his  social  pamphlets, 
87  seq.;  his  use  of  the  Manifest 
Detection  of  Dyce  Play,  89-91; 
his  accxiracy  in  the  social 
pamphlets,  91-96;  the  Defence  of 
Conny  Catching,  and  his  author- 
ship of  it,  96-107;  a  new  step  in 
the  Greene-Harvey-Nashe  quar- 
rel, 105-106;  his  Blacke  Bookes 
Messenger,  107-109;  signifi- 
cance of  his  social  pamphlets  as 
narrative,  109-114;  his  Disputa- 
tion, 115-121;  his  Quippe  for  an 
Upstart  Courtier,  121-126;  his 
lost  ballad,  127;  relation  of  his 
poems  to  his  romances,  127-129; 
his  poetic  themes,  129-144; 
his  Maidens  Dreame,  142;  his 
metres,  144-155;  merit  of  his 
verse,  with  selections  from 
his  poetry,  155-163;  his  Al- 
phonsus,  174-177,  190-193;  his 
Looking  Glasse  for  London  and 
Englande,  177-179;  his  Orlando 
Furioso,  179-180,  193-195;  his 
Friar  Bacon,  180-181,  195-196; 
his  James  IV.,  181-182,  19&- 
197;  summary  of  the  dates  of 
his  plays,  182;  his  character- 
istics as  a  dramatist,  189-200; 
summary  of  Greene's  character- 
istics as  a  man  and  as  an  author, 
201-205 

Greenes  Ghost  Haunting  Coni- 
catchers,  90  n.,  100  n. 

Greenes  Vision,  26,  71,  88,  94  n., 
132,  169,  170-172 

Grimald,  Nicholas,  134,  148 

Groatsworth  of  Wit,  48,  59  n.,  62- 
65,  72,  73,  80,  139,  145,  170, 
171,  173,  177,  183 


Harman,  Thomas,   85   n.,  86  n., 

87  n.,  91,  92,  93  n. 
Harvey,  Gabriel,  2,  74,  79,   105, 

106 
Harvey,  Richard,  105,  106 
Heliodorus,  35,  38 
Henry  VL,  182 

Henslowe,  PhiUp,  178,  179,  188 
Heptameron,  21 
Howard,  PhiHp,  Earl  of  Arundel, 

166 
Howell,  Thomas,  139  n. 
Hunting  of  Cupid,  181 

IlCoHegiano,  11,  12,20 
Isam,  Mrs.,  4,  79 

James   IV.,    181-182,     188,     189, 

196-197 
Jamyn,  Amadis,  136 

Kind-Harts  Dreame,  169 

King  Lear,  194 

Knack  to  Know  a  Knave,  A,  75  n., 

182,  183 
Kyd,  Thomas,  32,  189,  190,  201 

La  Burza  Reale,  169 

Lamb  of  God,  105 

Laneham's  Letter,  23  n. 

Locrine,  186 

Lodge,  Thomas,  75  n.,91, 127,  152, 

156,  162,  178,  183,  185 
Longus,  35,  38 
Looking   Glasse  for   London   and 

Englande,  177-179,  183 
Lovers  Metamorphosis,  25  n. 
Lyly,  John,  9,  10,  13,  16,  17,  35, 

45,   46,   64,   69,   75,    138,    189, 

201 


230 


INDEX 


Macbeth,  190 

Maidens   Dreame,    142,     149    n., 

172 
Mamillia,   14-19,   25    n.,  33,   66, 

102  I).,  164,  189 
Mamillia,    The   Second   Part,   37, 

102  n.,  127,  164 
Manifest  Detection  of  Dyce  Play, 

89-91,  93  n. 
Marlowe,  Christopher,  32,  52,  75, 

133,    189,    190,    191,    192,    193, 

196,  200 
Martin  Marprelate,  167  n. 
Menaphon,  36,  39-42,  45,  48,  53, 

128,  149  n.,  155,  156,  168,  176, 

177,  189,  197 
Merrie   Conceited  Jests  of  George 

Peele,  110 
Milton,  John,  190 
Mirrour  of  Modestie,  61,  165 
Morando,   21-22,    103  n.,    166 
Most  Rare  and  Excellent  Dreame,  A , 

142,  143,  149  n. 
Mourning  Garment,  56-59,  67,  69, 

80,  167,  169,  171,  172,  181 
Mucedorus,  185 

Nashe,  Thomas,  2,  4  n.,  6,  75,  105, 

168  n.,  176,  177,  183 
Never  too  Late,  27,  59-62,  68,  69, 

71,  77  n.,  80,  103  n.,  133, 140  n., 

169,  171,  172 
News  out  of  Purgatory,  152 
Notable  Discovery  of  Conny-Catch- 

ing,  78  n.,  82-83,  84,  85,  86,  87, 

90,  92,  102,  115 
Noyes,  Alfred,  151  n. 

Opheltes,  60,  65 

Orlando    Furioso,    100,    179-180, 
188,  193-195,  196,  197 


Orpharion,  26,  53,  70,  103  n.,  168, 
170,  172 

Painter,  Wilham,  11,  16,  108  n. 
Pandosto,   36,  37-39,  45,  48,  66, 

168,  197 
Paradise  of  Daintie  Devices,  140  n., 

146 
Passionate  Century  of  Love,  134 
Paulus  Jovius,  185 
Peele,  George,  76,  138,  180,  181 
Penelopes  Web,  25,  103  n,  167 
Perymedes,  26,  92,  103  n.,  167,  168, 

176 
Petite  Pallace  of  Pettie  His  Pleas- 
ure, A,  88  n. 
Pettie,  George,  11,  46,  88  n. 
Philomela,  43,  140  n.,  172 
Phoenix  Nest,  142,  149  n. 
Planetomachia,  25,  29,  88  n.,  104, 

166 
Poetical     Rhapsody     (Davison's), 

137  n. 
Pontano,  his  Aegidius,  26  n. 
Primaudaye,  his  Academy,  22  n., 

23  n.,  25  n.,  167  n.,  185 
Printempsd'Iver,  180 
Pseudo-Anacreon,  137 

Quippe  for  an  Upstart  Courtier,  A, 
82,99,  100  n.,  101,  106,  121-126, 
173,  193 

Repentance,  3,  66,  72,  76-79,  80, 

170,  171,  173 
Richard  IIL,  190 
Riche,    Bamabe,    11,    12  n.,    46, 

59  n.,  65  n.,  127 
Rosalynde,  6,  152 
Rowlands,  Samuel,  10,  90  n.,  92  n., 

100  n. 
Royal  Exchange,  53,  168,  185 


INDEX 


231 


Sannazaro,  127 
Schoolmaster  (Ascham's),  11 
Scillaes  Metamor-phosis,  178 
Second  Part  of  Conny-catching,  82, 

83,  85,  86,   87,  89,   91  n.,    101, 

102,  172 
Selimus,  182,  184-186,  187 
Shakespeare,  William,  32,  76,  136, 

146,  152,  162,  199 
Shepherd's  Calendar,  130 
Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  75  n.,  127,  135, 

152,  156 
Siemowitsch  (or  Zeimowit),  38 
Spanish  Masquerado,  53,88  n.,  168, 

178 
Spanish  Tragedy,  32,  194 
Spenser,  Edmund,  148  n.,  175,  185 
Steel  Glas,  148 

Studentes  (of  StymmeUus),  55,  72 
Summers  Last  Will  and  Testament, 

183 
Smrey,  Earl  of,  134,  148 

Tamburlaine,  167  n.,  174  n.,  175, 
176,  177,  189,  190,  191,  192, 
193,  194 

Tancred  and  Gismond,  186 


Tarlton,  Richard,  152 

Teares  of  the  Muses,  The,  175 
Thirde  and  Last  Part  of  Conny- 
catching,  82,   83,   92,   99,    100, 
109,  111,  172 
Tompkins  the  Wheelwright,  28 
TotteVs  Miscellany,   134,   148 
Turberville,  George,  134,  146 
Tusser,  Thomas,  146 

Underdowne,  Thomas,  35 

Visions  of  Bellay,  148  n. 

Warner,  William,  40,  60,  62  n.,  65 
Watson,  Thomas,  134,  138  n. 
Watteau,  42 
Whetstone,  George,  46 
Whittington  College,  96 
Whittington,  Richard,  96  n. 
Winter's  Tale,  39  n. 
Wither,  George,  146 
Woman  in  the  Moon,  26 
Wounds  of  Civill  War,  185 
Wyatt,  Sir  Thomas,  134 

"Young  JuvenaU,"  75  n.,  183 


VITA 

John  Clark  Jordan  was  born  near  Varna,  Illinois,  on 
November  3,  1883.  He  attended  Knox  College  in  Gales- 
burg,  Illinois,  and  received  the  degree  of  A.  B.  from  that 
institution  in  1908.  In  1908-09  he  was  Assistant  in  English 
in  the  University  of  Illinois,  and  studied  under  the  direction 
of  Professor  C.  N.  Greenough.  From  1909  until  1912  he 
was  a  student  in  Columbia  University.  There  he  pursued 
courses  under  Professors  Thorndike,  Fletcher,  Spingarn, 
Trent,  Ayres,  Lawrence,  Jespersen,  Wright,  and  Matthews; 
and  received  the  degree  of  A.  M.  in  February,  1911.  Dur- 
ing 1912-14  he  was  Instructor  in  English  in  the  University 
of  Illinois;  he  is  at  present  Professor  of  English  Literature 
in  Drury  College,  Springfield,  Missouri. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

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